I've Never Been So Racist in My Life

Five hours south of San Francisco and an hour north of San Diego in the southwestern most portion of another little to unknown province.



D and A's birthplace. I had two titles for this one, both have potential to be mistakenly perceived as hostile so I flipped a coin. Heads—you clicked it. Tales—Where I'm From There's More Brown People Than White People.

Never crossed my mind. Moz lived across the street, he's still the fastest sprinting human being I've been in the presence of. He and I have been friends going on 30 years now. He joined the Army right out of high school and remained ever since. His family's Mexican. They had chickens, roosters, cows, whatever else. They brought us eggs every week. My mothers ex-husband repaired their vehicles.

If you're standing in Moz's front yard looking across the street at the house I grew up in, the neighbors on the right are the Clarkeston's, they're black. I'm cool with them, too. Norm was a year ahead of me so I caught a ride with him to school until I got my license. We played football together, too, all four of us did actually. Myself, Norm, Moz, and Laird. Laird and I also narrowly escaped a lot of trouble on our dirt bikes together.

Laird's the neighbor on the left, his family's Native American. I've known him the longest. Been more than 35 years since we met, everyone still calls him Navajo. He raced bmx. When he'd pedal passed the grandstands in first place cuz he was a gangster on a bicycle, we'd stand up to cheer him on by covering our screaming mouths in and out like Native Americans do on TV.

Behind me were the Tagazaki's, Tutu and Terry, they're Japanese. They have a daughter, Miyoko, she's gorgeous. Never gave me a chance, trust me I tried. She's really cool, a sweetheart, so are her parents. She hung out with us regularly but she had big plans. Miyoko left right after high school. Last I heard she married some big shot Hollywood film producer and has a family with him.

Next to the Tagazaki's are the Abondonaldo's, they're Nicaraguan. Eugie was the youngest of three boys; Mitchel, Rudy and him. I was just talking to Eugie yesterday, we've been tight like brothers for what seems like forever. Next door to him are the Xen's, Chris. He's Chinese, we still call him China. He's in Orange County now managing 30 something petrol stations.

Door-to-door. Their version would say I was the only white kid—never crossed my mind. I didn't even get to the Jacobs yet, they're the Jehovahs Witness family on the corner. My first wife's Pilipino and Italian which doesn't identify flesh either, just means she's never wrong and knows everything. Angela at the other end, she's Taiwanese. Katie's family is Polish. The Hernandez's are Hispanic. Enrique's El Salvadorian. Door-to-door. Where I grew up.



Ain't there no'mo! At time of writing, we're in East Tennessee, hashtag MiddleAmerica. Neighboring states are Georgia, Kentucky, the Carolinas, Arkansas, Virginia, Mississippi and Alabama, each proudly claim The South but don't get it twisted, it's middle America.

Nice place to visit. If you have friends here you visit regularly and rarely if ever leave their home upon arrival to venture out experiencing Southern culture first hand, it's a nice place to visit. Tic.. Toc..



Last time I got into a physical altercation was in California, would've been 2013'ish, eight years ago—not my thing. Before that was Las Vegas, 2009, unavoidable. I don't throw hands, mine are too delicate. I got buddies who do that, some professionally and some because they're awake, not DanDays. 'I kill'em with my mouth'.

#Undefeated. Add two more verbal altercation victories to the win column since arriving in Tennessee seven months ago. Would've been three if Pura wasn't there the third time. She got me outta there before I jumped in the agents ass.

I've never had an issue with race or color or religion or any of that stuff, never crossed my mind. I never heard family or a neighbor, friend, anyone use a racial slur. Not where I'm from. We don't do that. This is the most I've talked about it.



It's all these middle American old ass racist white bastards fault! First time was four months ago. I had a rough start that morning, 'guilty', but it didn't make the old white bastard any less of an old white bastard. The most recent happened a few days ago but first the second, five weeks ago:

I needed a referral to be seen by a specialist. In the US, you can't just conduct an internet search for a "𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝." That's logical. Doesn't work like that, everyone gets their cut. Medical attention in America begins with an in network primary care physician who has an insurance pre-approved hourly rate and co-pay. You can't step foot inside a medical facility in the US without a credit card and two forms of ID.

Primary care doctor, pay them. Primary refers you to a specialist, pay them. Specialist requests images / x'rays etc from the radiologist, pay them. Return to specialist to discuss image results, pay them again and somewhere around [𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎] you'll receive medical attention. If you're insured. All bets are off without coverage. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐸𝓃𝒹.



All I need is a signature so I scheduled an appointment with a provider close to the house. I'm in the patient room now, they called me back from office waiting. She checked my blood pressure, height/weight, "any allergies?" Etc etc, "the doctor will be right with you."

'Thank you.'

I'm waiting.. And I'm waiting.. More. Still waiting.

I can hear the doctor in the hallway carrying a conversation with front desk personnel about Independence Day. He talks loud. Guess they entertained the whole family out at Lake Concord that weekend. Real loud. He must have bad hearing.

Going through my phone.. Played chess.. Ecency. Still scrolling.

I waited 43 minutes. If the referral wasn't required, I would've left, California people are bred to tightrope life on a time is money balancing act. This doctor's disrespectful.

:knock knock: Finally he opened the door. Old white bastard didn't say "hello," introduce himself, nothing :knock knock: Very first words Dr. Philip Watson of Knoxville, Tennessee used to address a complete stranger, mios:

It doesn't matter what color you are if you point a gun at a cop, they're going to shoot you.

Ah, fuck! Here we go again, methinks. So now I'm a couple of things—impatient / irritable / hungry—it's been awhile. I'm not only terrified to death of doctors but I do not require this guy's medical practice he made me wait this long to receive. I only need a signature and consequently learned he's just like everyone else around here. I couldn't stop myself. I reacted.

'Only an old white guy would say that.'

And that's how it started. He wasn't expecting that. He mistook me for another good ol' boy who believes there's a fraction of truth in his statement—negative. He set his laptop on the counter and continued.

I don't think so, buddy, doesn't matter what color you are. You can't honestly believe if you point a gun at a police officer you'd live to see supper.

'No, I do not "honestly believe that" Philip, mind if I call you Phil? They'll shoot me just as fast as they'll shoot you or anyone else if I point a gun at them, doesn't even have to be real.'

Exactly! Doesn't matter what color you are.

'Wrong. It does matter what color you are. A black guy doesn't have to point anything, they'll shoot him in the back for hailing a cab.'

He asked me where I'm from, "what brings you here today?" His whole demeanor changed. He didn't appreciate my dialogue, 'Los Angeles.' We went back and forth a couple more times to further solidify his incompetence (can't believe this dude's a trained medical professional). I didn't stick around.

'With all due respect, I'll seek medical attention elsewhere, Phil. Have a nice day.'

He said something as I excused myself, I didn't hear him. I got a signature finally, took three doctors to get it but I got it. I was denied services from the second medical facility because I protect my privacy—refused to disclose Covidination. And then just the other day it happened again only worse.

Pura scheduled us to view a condo. We won't live there, just an investment. We're 15 minutes early, neither ours or the sellers agent has arrived. We happened to be going back and forth at that moment about southern culture. She's telling me what she sees during her day and hurtful narratives these people use or their racist behavior. I told her how all these old white dudes go out of their way to hold doors open for me but won't do the same for the Arabic chick behind me.

"Really?! It's that bad?"

'Really. I make it a point now to pay attention. Happens everywhere I go.'

She told me about some old white lady at her place of employment who told a colleague of hers he's going to hell because he's gay. They think it's acceptable to talk like that to a complete stranger.



The sellers agent showed up first. He's probably in his 50's, a suit and tie wearing dude, rolled up in a gold-trim Lexus. Pura, "shocker! He's white."

We got out and spoke briefly. He told us a little about the neighborhood, 'our agent should be here any minute'. He wasn't concerned, "where are you from?" We told him California and explained we're just looking to lock down a couple properties before we take off. He offered to unlock the condo for us. That action itself is not common. Agents don't open doors for clientele who isn't paying them, agents unlock doors for agents and ours is late. We accepted, 'sure.'

He let us in the front door. We're welcomed by nice flooring—distressed hardwood they call it. It's a nice joint and it's in the budget. 2+2 with attached garage, the bedrooms are huge. Hardwood throughout the joint. We're interested. A really sharp dude once told me "if it pencils out it pencils out."

We didn't even get a chance to see the kitchen, Pura and I just stepped foot in the owner suite. As we walked in she whispered _{"think we'd be in here if we weren't white?"} I shook my head no. Just then he entered the owner suite behind us, hurried passed us to show us the walk-in closet. I'm looking out the sliding glass door admiring the wooded back yard. There's a nice big redwood deck off the bedroom slider leading to the woods. Pura's next to me awaiting the presentation of this closet he's eager to show us. Very excitedly, he opened the closet door.

I'm a complete stranger to this guy and potential client, mios, never seen him in my life. He looked over Pura directly at me. He has my attention. He cracked a half smile, opened the door and laughed out loud:

Look! An Asian family of 6 could live happily ever after in here.

I still can't believe he said that. The skin on my neck tightened up from grinding my teeth. And he laughed too. Out loud. I threw up a little bit in my mouth. I couldn't stop myself again. I reacted again.

'Am I supposed to think that's fuckin funny motherfucker?!'

"Oooh Kaaaay! OK!! That's good! We've seen enough, thank you, thank you."

Pura's pushing my chest leading me out by the hand, I complied. He didn't say another word, neither did I. I turned around and followed Pura like the wise man I am. Our agent pulled up as we backed out the driveway, 'not interested.'

Middle America—I never engulfed myself in their culture until now, it's a nice place to visit. But I don't feel a whole lot less of a minority here than I did in Central or South America.