I’m so conflicted right now. My best friend, let’s call him Mark, and I have been inseparable since middle school. We’ve been through everything together. Recently, Mark started dating a girl, Sarah, and I’ve been happy for him. However, Sarah is… a lot.
She’s incredibly high-maintenance, constantly needs attention, and frankly, I find her exhausting. Mark, on the other hand, seems completely smitten and oblivious to these things. Last night, we were all hanging out, and Sarah was going on and on about some minor inconvenience she faced during the day.
I, completely unintentionally, rolled my eyes. I didn’t say anything, but Mark saw it. He pulled me aside later and asked what my problem was. I told him I wasn’t a fan of Sarah, and that I thought she was being dramatic. He got really upset, saying I was being a bad friend and that I should be supportive.
We ended up arguing, and now we’re not speaking. Am I the asshole for not liking his girlfriend and letting him know, even indirectly?
Conclusion
The story ends with a tense silence, leaving everyone to wonder if Mark and his best friend can ever recover from this rift. Was the friendship strong enough to survive Sarah, or was this the beginning of the end?
Here’s how people reacted:
I started working for myself doing leatherwork. I was working with my hands all day and began watching all sorts of documentaries just to have something going in the background, and watched basically anything that sounded interesting. I’d begin watching something that I was completely opposed to/didn’t agree with (abortion, legalization of same-sex marriage, immigration, etc.) and hearing different sides of the argument along with *humanizing* these large groups of people I thought I had nothing in common with, just really started to make me feel empathy towards them.
In the end, I realized we all feel the same feelings, everyone is just trying to do their best, and who am I to say people can/can’t do things just because it makes me more comfortable to feel right about everything? My brother also came out as bisexual a few years into this transition out of beliefs and I was so glad I had gone through that shift because rather than worrying about his eternal salvation, if he was sinning, worrying about him “sinning” in front of my nieces, nephews, etc. I just realized he’s the same person, he’s a good person, and that God would be an asshole to send him to Hell for being bisexual.
Also learning more about the history of this country and how our society works. So much of the injustice in the past is still felt today.
I point this out because I’d hear some things my mom or grandma would say, and try to explain why it was wrong (or even just come out with, “Please stop saying that!”), and pretty much all I’d be met with is, “You’ll understand when you get older.”
I got older. They’re still wrong.
(On a side note, it amazes me sometimes just how racist Italian-Americans can be, especially considering some of the absolute B.S. many of our immigrant ancestors had to put up with.)
I later took two years off of college to work to elect African Americans from my community into public office. My father in particular was less than supportive, but the fact they were all Democrats may have played into that as well.
Then he kicked me out when I was 17, almost 18. I could only afford a small apartment in a shitty part of town and I got to meet a lot of different people from different races. I went to college on the pill grant and I got to know my classmates, I learned about different cultures and religions and the history of the people my father told me were worthless and no better than animals.
I’m almost 30 now and I don’t speak to him anymore really. It took a while to shake the feeling of being told I was worthless but I also learned that woman aren’t useless and if I wasn’t useless then neither was anyone else my dad hated. My father was just a bigoted angry man that drove all his kids and his wife away from him because he was hateful and violent.
I will never again judge someone on the color of their skin or their nationality, their sexuality or their gender. I cannot live with hate in my heart for people just trying to live their lives. Hatred doesn’t fix anything and it doesn’t feel good – it’s also counter productive.
Sad thing was I never knew my family was racist until I left the military and moved home. I can’t stand they way they talk and I call them out every single time. They are changing, slowly, but they are
Becoming close friends with a gay Latino.
Going through difficult life experiences, which shaped me into a more empathetic person. Noticing how others habitually treated and looked at POC on the street or in casual encounters, as well as the negative assumptions they made about them on face value.
Getting absolutely sick of “jokes” and cruel, ignorant comments.
My mom’s side of the family is especially racist, although my mom has come a long way because my sisters and I have friends of all races, sexes, genders, and backgrounds. Over time, my mom’s exposure to my friends and my ideas helped dull the effects of her racism and homophobia. She sits and listens when I tell her about my experiences with other cultures and show her interesting videos. She even surprised me last week when I talked about gender-neutral bathrooms and she switched from being previously against to mostly for it.
Other topics she’s decided are ok: same-sex marriage (or marriage equality), adoption by same-sex couples, people who are trans, Canada’s acceptance of many refugees.
My dad is a lot less racist and homophobic. He grew up in a seminary but then later left the church and never went back. He’s adopted a lot of the acceptance mindset and rejected a lot of the hellfire and brimstone concepts. He used to have a gay roommate who was a fighter pilot who once saved his nose from frostbite (that’s a story for a different thread). He’s fine with people being gay, but he can’t explain his still-aversion to gay marriage.
Another Factor was that my father was a complete son of a bitch. Not only did I regard him as a constant threat, but his life seem completely miserable and I knew I had to make sure I did not become like him. He was much more of a racist than my mother, so I figured I needed to be less racist than him, at the very least.
Also, I heard how white people talked about black people when there weren’t any black people around. I knew that I wouldn’t like it very much if people treated me that way. And I knew enough about the history of race relations in this country to figure out that white people have done some pretty awful things. So I felt like black people black people probably had some legitimate grievances.
Then, a lot of it was simply my own personal experiences. I met black people everyday who seemed quite decent. If this was a group of people I was supposed to hate, why did they seem so nice? At the very least, I felt this discrepancy had to be explained.
There were two other factors, though, that I don’t think get the attention they deserve.
One was the character of the people who were telling me black people were inferior. These white racists were real assholes. They were intolerant of all kinds of things, not just other races. They seemed prone to violence and, generally, were extremely unpleasant. There was really nothing about them that made me want to be on their team. Hell, I was downright scared of them.
The second, though, was perhaps the most infuriating for me personally. I really did not want to be told what to think. Anytime anyone tried, I got very skeptical and suspicious towards whatever they were selling. I wanted to make up my own mind.