By FRED KRONER
Explanation is not the same as justification.
Sometimes they can be polar opposites and have no relationship or relevance to each other.
Consider the story of a young man who was raised in a small – but growing – midwestern community.
He lived in the same house and attended the same school district from the time he started kindergarten through his high school graduation.
Virtually all of the people he interacted with on a day-to-day basis – whether they were classmates or faculty members – were like him. That is to say, they were Caucasian.
Some were taller; others shorter. Some were heavier; others lighter, but they all – or at least 99 percent of them – looked pretty much the same and like him.
He supposed that some were of different religions, political views or had different sexual orientations, but those topics were never discussed. In retrospect, he isn’t sure they were even thoughts in his mind.
Upon graduating from high school, the protagonist in this story enrolled at a major university which had in excess of 30,000 students. He was on a campus with different cultures, beliefs and races.
And yet, due to the random nature of housing assignments, those he came into contact with on a day-to-day basis were mainly like him. The fourth floor of his dormitory – both years he was a resident – consisted primarily of people who looked like him. That is to say, they were Caucasian.
He supposed that some were of different religions, political views or had different sexual orientations, but those topics were never discussed.
Most of his classes the first two years at the university were in large lecture halls with more students than were present in his entire high school. He was content to listen to the teaching assistants and take copious notes, but met very few of the others in those lecture rooms.
After two years of fulfilling his liberal arts requirements at college, he had a steady diet of classes associated with his major. The class sizes were – mostly – smaller, and collaborative projects were emphasized, so our protagonist got to expand the grouping of people he knew.
Somehow, virtually all of those folks were still people who looked like him. When he graduated, he left with a degree, but little worldly knowledge about other cultures, political views or personal preferences.
Without these experiences, he entered the work-a-day world still holding on to the beliefs and values that his elders espoused and he witnessed first-hand for years at family gatherings.
So, here we are, living in a world with other adults, ready to reproduce and perhaps perpetuate the myths and misperceptions to another generation. In this context, it is easy to see how cycles continue and are passed on.
That is the explanation. There is no justification for intolerance or for being uncaring or unaccepting that not everyone – maybe hardly anyone – thinks or acts like we do at times.
It’s now decades after our protagonist first started full-time employment, carrying with him thoughts of Utopia and a sense of Pollyannaism.
He is thankful for the opportunity to associate with and learn from people who didn’t look – or act – just like him. He now has an expanded world view, not just from traveling, but from the experience of living.
The lessons learned were profound: regardless of where we live, whom we spend the night with, what activities we devote our time to or whom we choose to follow, we are all basically the same.
We are trying to successfully make our way in this world, pay our bills, support our family, serve as role models to those who want to view us in that manner, and live happily ever after.
There is no right or wrong way, no better or worse way, just a series of choices, turns and decisions, some of which take us back to – or away from – a point of view we had never even considered or couldn’t imagine forsaking.
Some days, it all clicks and is as smooth as clockwork. Other days, we take our solace in remembering the good days and looking forward to finding them again very soon.
I can say these things while filled with confidence about their accuracy. The protagonist in this story is myself. This is the story of how I lived, and learned. And grew.
As my world has expanded, my life has been enriched. I have best friends who were addicts, best friends who are gay, best friends who swear by the views on both sides of the political spectrum, best friends who struggled for years to feed their children, best friends who are doctors and best friends who have endured unspeakable pain. And, I have best friends who are like me, too.
The best part is that many are friends I never would have met had I not been open to receiving others and recognizing that we all have more similarities than differences. That is an explanation that is easy to justify.
