The Privileged View

I went to watch my daughter play badminton yesterday in a galaxy far far away. At a high school where most of the kids are not white, and certainly not accustomed to the kind of competition with which even badminton novices from our neck of deep dark suburbia seem so comfortable.

It's a place where kids don't grow up being shuttled to sports lessons after school; my guess is they don't open their sports duffels -- if they have any -- at the end of the day to find cute little snacks packed for them by mom. For them, playing on a team -- something our children take for granted -- is a privilege. The bleachers set aside for their parents were woefully empty compared to the visitors' bleachers across the gym. A galaxy far far away.

And we all made assumptions. I glanced with suspicion at the two boys loitering in the parking lot when I pulled in, taking my wallet and my lap top with me (something I often don't do) and double checking to be sure I had locked my car. What was it that made it loitering, in my mind, rather than two boys just hanging out after school? By the time I arrived, many of the matches had been completed, and our girls were regaling each other with tales of their frightening trips to the bathroom. Scary. Gross. Even some of the moms offered up their own critiques. The coaches admonished the girls to pee in pairs.

Earlier the same day, I arrived at work, in a place where the natives are as well-heeled as they are where I live, and was horrified to learn of a sexual assault and murder that had occurred in a yoga apparel store in Bethesda, Maryland. Bethesda is a place like where I live; the mall there is a place like where I work. Safe, full of white people who don't take other people's things or commit random acts of violence. We all assume something was amiss; this could not have been a random murder, but instead must have been personal. How else can we feel safe in our galaxies, safe knowing that the danger is far far away?

For a short time, I'm sure the young women who work the closing shift at my store will be looking over their shoulders, afraid to be alone in the dark, wary of strangers. But that will pass; somehow, we will be able to explain away the anomalous violence in Bethesda, and feel safe again in our various corners of deep dark suburbia. But we will continue our vigilance when we find ourselves in universes different from our own. We will continue to expect that something bad will happen, even though, odds are, it probably won't.

And the girls without the shiny new badminton racquets and stiff new court shoes will no doubt continue to feel lucky that they get to spend their afternoons competing in a sport, win or lose.