A straight, white, able-bodied, middle aged female…
Not as easy as you minorities might think!
Driving to work this morning, I happened to see a car with one of those little rainbow bumper stickers. The eldest had one of those too.
And I was wondering. Where’s my bumper sticker? What colours do I get for living a life as best I can? For raising two kids, mostly alone? For forging through the dating quagmires, and dealing with all the minorities? (Well, not all of them is minorities. Here in the suck heap I call a country, I’m in the colour minority, and I’m never allowed to forget it.) For living, or trying to live, a decent life where I pay my taxes, and get service in return? Do I get any colours for that?
So, there I am.
I’ve worked a lot. I know a lot. I’ve lived a lot. I’ve experienced a lot. But I can’t cry discrimination because I’m not gay. I’m not disabled. I’m just old, and that’s no reason to cry about – according to the young folk that is. I can’t even cry discrimination because discrimination against whites is the done thing here in the suck heap.
These days you’re more likely to land a cushy job if you’re a 15 year old, black, lesbian disabled person. And I ain’t neither of those things! To use the vernacular…
Please don’t get me wrong.
If you’re gay, cool. My son is gay. What you do at night behind closed doors should not affect your ability to work. If you’re disabled, I’m sorry. You did not ask for it to happen and you should also be allowed to work to the best of your ability. If you’re black, well then, in SA you might seem to have won the jackpot because everybody wants you rather than me. Not that it’s all that simple either. Not that jobs are scarce, it’s just that there’s a surplus of people applying for the jobs. And that’s where the problem starts.
Because I need to work. I have responsibilities that has to be met. If I don’t meet them, I’ll end up in the street. And why should I end up on the street? I’ve worked and paid taxes in the suck heap for the past going on 30 years. I should be allowed to earn my living and be able to hold my head high one day when I’m old and can rest at last.
Young things though, not so much. At least not all of them. Some young black kids I know already have families to look after because their parents can’t. But to negate everything a person is just to fill your quota or to keep your BBBEE ratings high enough is kind of sucky. For the person being negated in any case.
Therefore, I’m working on my colours. The kid asks me what I need the colours for? If you have aids you have a colour. Cancer. Cholestrol. Anything and everything under the sun has a colour.
But not the white, non-sickly, able bodied, heterosexual woman. Or man for that matter, but since I’m not a man the guys will have to fend for themselves.
I deserve a colour because I’ve pushed two babies into the world. I deserve a colour because, when you go for your cancer treatment, or ARV’s or what ever, I’m the one that religiously occupies my desk. Because I’m NOT sick. I’m NOT fiddly. I get up and go to work, come rain or come shine. And even if only for that, I DESERVE my own colour. Actually, a myriad of colours.
I will commence work on my very own emblem. If you’re in the same boat as I am, feel free to use it as your own. Since all the minorities have councils and committees and what not, I’m jumping on that particular band wagon, even if I’m only a council of one.
I deserve to live the best life I can, not because I’m entitled to it, but because I’ve worked for it. I’ve fought for it, I’ve paid for it in blood, money, sweat and tears.
Watch this space for the emblem that I propose to stick on everything – because I deserve some recognition too!!