Choosing Grace

I want to talk to you about my mom.  Growing up, I never gave her enough credit, and now out of habit, I still need to check my brain at times because I have always associated being nice with being soft.  My dad, from my adolescent perspective, was the hard-ass.  The disciplinarian.  The no-nonsense, direct parent who I really didn’t want to pick up the phone first when I had bad news to share (read: when I got myself into trouble).  People like to describe my mother as “sweet” and “nice” and “kind” and “the best.”  And they should, because she is all of those things.  But while my dad may have been the “hard-ass” while I was growing up, what I neglected to see was that my mom has always been (and continues to be) the badass.

While teaching me to not be an asshole, Mom also was navigating what it meant to be a parent of multiracial children, what it meant to be a white mother addressing moments of racism toward her sort-of-white children, what it meant to see or hear racism in her own family, and what it meant to continually be not-associated with her own children.  One time, in their early years of marriage while discussing children, Dad told Mom, “You know, they’re not going to look like you.”  Not to make her feel bad or to second-guess it, but to brace her for the reality of having multiracial children.  Mom was like, “Whatever.”

Okay, not really.  I don’t know what Mom said exactly, but it was along the lines of “Who cares, I will love them because they are mine.”

Mom and I don’t talk extensively about what it’s been like to be the odd one out in terms of race in our family.  But I know, through my own observations and from reflecting on experiences we’ve shared throughout my life, that Mom experiences second-hand racism.  Growing up, when we were in public she has had to verbally claim us as her family, rather than be inherently included.  Mom was asked many times if Brother and I were adopted.  Mom gets told many times that Brother and I look like Dad.  Mom says,“Excuse me,” often in order to rejoin us when someone cuts her off in public.  Mom nods and smiles and explains a lot of things a lot of times.

I used to think this behavior was soft.  When I hear racist microaggressions from individuals or experience moments of marginalization, my immediate emotions are often anger and hostility.  I’ve calmed down in the past couple years, especially as I’ve begun to understand the role of educator and realized the importance of learning moments.  I’ve calmed down, too, because I’ve done a lot of self-work and healing.  But most of why I’ve calmed down is from watching Mom.  Because while I see red and think of all the ways to respond in which I can cut someone down (read: make them hurt like I hurt), Mom hears them out (patiently and calmly) and talks it through with them to reach a point of understanding.  And during this, Mom never says they’re right or that what they’ve said is okay and permissible.  But Mom listens and stays “nice” and stays open.  Mom is not a pushover, but Mom has found a way to (almost) always extend grace.

I get that our situations are different—Mom has moments that set her off, too.  But Mom, in a way that is authentic and genuine to herself, is able to see past what is being said and to the person.  Mom does not excuse actions, and she does not follow the “but they’re a good person,” line of thought as a way to make something okay.  Mom, in her infinite wisdom and optimism, sees the good within people and believes them to be more than how they are acting.  Mom tries to make people realize their potential.

I think of Mom a lot in how I approach my work in Student Affairs.  For a long time, I believed that extending grace was a concession—that in order to forgive others or give them benefit of the doubt in a situation, it came at the cost of my own feelings and experiences.  I saw it as weak.  I saw it as soft.  But as I’ve attempted to authentically adapt to Mom’s approach of forgiving the person, but not the action, I’ve cultivated stronger relationships with my colleagues, with my students, and with myself.

There is a quote by Dave Eggers that I associate with my mother and that I try to live out in my own life: “We see beauty within and cannot say no.”  Initially, I thought of it as a goal: Be more optimistic.  Like people more.  But as I continue to think about grace and how I seek to improve the community that I live in and that I play a role in shaping, I believe it more to be an approach to living happily and inclusively.  I cannot shut down others for trying to learn and I cannot hurt others because they have hurt me (intentionally or not).  Instead I must look to the beauty within, and to help them find that as well.  At least, if I want to get to Mom’s level of Badass.