There are times when a person wonders, why was man not clothed on that first day? For it seems that what we wear now plays a factor in who we are and what we can become. I have seen it all too many times; a witness to my own prejudices indeed. Times when I have seen a young girl, aged no more than 16, pushing a stroller in a supermarket and the thought that she was a teen mother was to be the most obvious explanation. Times when a man, near twenty years my senior, was refused to use the facilities simply because his clothes were torn and ragged. Even though the man looked sincerely in pain, too tired to bare another second of agony, he still was not welcomed beyond the door.
Now, I am a man of youth, 19, to say the least. Born to a Muslim mother and a Baptist father, I grew up on practices so diverse that it took nearly all my life to truly appreciate what I had learned. These life long lessons, these concrete ideas, would become the foundation that is my growth. The reason why I no longer judge those I see.
I grew up in a home much like that in a ghetto. The carpet covered creaking floorboards a simple reminder to the state we lived in. We were poor…in a sense. We lacked money but we presented ourselves in a fashion that made us look as if we were the wealthiest people on the planet. Some would call it pretending, but this was not to be mistaken as such. My parents had the belief that if one possessed a high level of esteem but nevertheless remained a humble person, he could be rich in heart and knowledge, for these were the things that mattered most.
On one particular occasion, I had entered a convenience store near the apartments where I now live. The store was quite full for a Friday afternoon. People coming and going, the rustle and bustle of the store to stand as an earmark to what one would call “payday”. I parked my bike against the post outside and walked in casually. Check in hand, I made my way to the counter, where a beautiful woman with a quite disappointed frown met me. She stared at me. Looked me over from head to toe. Her eyes marking their trail up my white leather Nikes and my Levi jeans to my muscle shirt and Mecca baseball cap. Somehow, someway, my appearance was not acceptable, but I do not allow this to stop my progression. “Ma’am if I could please cash a check it would be greatly appreciated…Thank you.” Shocked, she silently accepted the check, though I could tell from her changed facial expression that she felt ashamed for casting such judgments. We seem to always want to assume that because a person dresses one way they possess the same behavior, same knowledge, same skill; and this is not so. Simply because I wear a suit and tie, does it make me the Head CEO of a Fortune 500 company? Just because I am sitting on the curb eating a sandwich during midday, does this automatically make me homeless?
Why is it so hard for man to look past our differences? Are we not more than what sets us apart? Each of us a unique being with capabilities, aspirations, and hopes. Each of us an intricate piece to the puzzle that is man. Let us put aside these foolish practices and open our eyes, so that our pupils can become pupils and we can learn what it means to be brothers.
I want the world to see me as I see myself. No more will I accept the downcast of eyes as I walk by in baggy jeans and a T-shirt. No more will I accept the praised air of a Stacy Adams suit. From today, I shall be myself and no more. Today I shall become MAN.