I AM AN ALLY

As I write this blog, I feel conflicted as to whether or not this post will be too controversial given the fragile state of our nation. However, I believe that the potential outrage that this post might provoke is exactly what the world needs right now. If I'm going to put it out there, I hope it does start some conversations.

Here it goes....

My name is Kristin. 

I was born in Colorado to two parents who desperately wanted a child. 

My mother was thrilled to find out that she was having a daughter. 

I participated in cheerleading, gymnastics, track and field, lacrosse and diving in middle school and high school. 

I was not required to personally pay for any of these extracurriculars. 

I was accepted to several of my top-choice colleges and the question of how I would pay for my education was not one that I was forced to entertain. 

I received job offers in the same zip code that I grew up in and I've gotta say that they were tempting... 

... Yet somehow, I knew that I was not seeing the whole picture. 

Growing up in Highlands Ranch, CO, the greatest form of "diversity" I encountered was interacting with people who were building our house, cleaning our schools or catering to the need for an additional "sweat towel" during the grueling workouts at the health club that would cost me both of my arms and legs today. 

I was born into privilege. 

I also was born with white privilege. 

There is a difference, although in my instance, they somewhat overlap. That said, my experience of privilege thanks to an upper-middle class upbringing is not the same as the additional privilege I have simply because of my skin color. 

White privilege says that no matter where I grew up, how much money my parents or myself have, and no matter how many nights I went hungry (or not), I have a leg up when it comes to applying for jobs, avoiding racial profiling, making restaurant reservations, looking at college acceptance, the quality of my high school education and more. I did nothing to deserve this. I don't recall asking the Great Stork who delivered me to my parents to ensure that my skin color was white. Yet because of my white skin, my day to day experience is different than my brothers and sisters of other skin colors. *That* is white privilege. I could have been born in a dumpster and lived in a trailer park and white privilege would still apply. 

I am fortunate that one of my summer jobs after my freshman year of college was at a restaurant that employed immigrants (as many do) to wash the dishes and take care of the back of the house duties that many of us wouldn't even dream of applying for. I watched as they were treated differently. I watched as their paychecks were shorted yet they were not in a position to rock the boat by speaking out. I watched as they were fired for being sick when those of us handing french fries and burgers to well-tipping customers were given chance after chance. I saw the pain in their eyes and the hope in their faces when I tried to learn a few words in Spanish in order to meet them where they were. 

This experience stuck with me, however I still had three more partying years of college and I quickly pushed that experience to the back of my mind. 

After graduation, I did what most of us who picked a Liberal Arts major do and began applying for jobs that often did not require that college degree I was so proud of. I ended up landing a job at a restaurant/bar in downtown Denver where I became an (unqualified) manager rather quickly. Once again, the difference in quality of life between those of us sneaking off to take shots in the ice room and those slaving away in the back of the house was impossible to ignore.... if we were looking. I had to look.

As a manager, I had access to time sheets and other information regarding every single employee who worked there. One day, the kitchen manager came to me and said that his staff was short on all of their paychecks - a substantial amount - and that the restaurant owners did not have any interest in speaking with him about this. I decided this was no longer a place I wanted to be and that I was going to go out attempting to making a difference. 

I printed the Back of the House time sheets dating back several pay periods, schedules and clock-in logs with my "manager code" and discovered that he was not exaggerating. I began speaking with each (justifiably) disgruntled employee, one at a time. I asked them what they believed their hours and pay should be and then compared them to their checks and the logs I had printed. 

NOT A SINGLE BOH WORKER LIED ABOUT BEING CHEATED AND UNDERPAID. 

I took this information to the owners and was met with the same response as the kitchen manager, even with all of the additional proof I had thanks to my manager password. While I lost the job as a result, the people I was standing up for had a whole lot more at stake. Many had told me that they had family depending on that money and that they could not afford to live being cheated out of the money they had already earned. 

Unfortunately and despite my best efforts, I could not amend the bullshit that the restaurant owners enforced. However, this experience became a true jumping off point into my life as an advocate for those whose voices are often stifled for no reason at all other than bigotry and hate. 

This world is not fair. I recently had a breakdown to my father who responded kindly with: "If I did not teach you that the world is unfair, then I have failed you as a father." It's so true. Just turn on the TV or leave the 'burbs for a field trip to Civic Center Park. It's an open invitation and I would be happy to join you. The world is not fair. 

I am writing this post because I believe that there are many people in my shoes: born into a nice home, born with the "right" color of skin according to our not-so-dear POTUS and often unsure how to prove that how we grew up is not necessarily how we want to live (or how we see the world). 

I want a CLEAN DREAM ACT NOW. 

I want a pathway to citizenship for all immigrants. 

I want the border wall to be a terribly distasteful tale we tell years down the road and laugh(/cry).

I want police to stop profiling and ICE to stop deporting innocent people. 

I want white people to stand up and say that "BLACK LIVES MATTER." 

I want people to care more about humanity than financial gains. 

I want my skin color and everyone else's to be an a physical attribute and nothing more - not a free pass or unjust hindrance. 

I want to make amends to all of those who have been displaced at the hands of my ancestors. 

I want Highlands Ranch to come to downtown Denver. 

I want to make a difference. 

I've noticed that at times I feel more capable of making a difference than at others - usually as a result of my own preconceived ideas of what actually makes a difference. 

I don't know everything and I certainly cannot begin to say what it is like growing up as someone other than me. Can you? If not, I hope you will join me in some upcoming opportunities to learn what exactly we can do to be the most helpful. We need to be allies. We need to stand. We need to get over the fact that we aren't in the spotlight, stop being so sensitive to the term "white privilege" and we need to do something. 

In alignment with the intent of this post, I am not going to list opportunities to be an ally. I spent years researching, volunteering, and speaking out for others' rights. The journey is what made me who I am today. I don't want to steal that journey from anyone. 

While paying attention often hurts, imagine what it would feel like for you to wake up one day and realize that you could have made all the difference... but you were a bit afraid to venture 30 minutes north. 

We don't have time to convince people to be allies. We need allies more than ever, however if you aren't willing to see why, then you are one of the people I am standing against. 

While I won't hand you a silver platter all of the ways I have discovered to make a difference, I will offer to join you, should you decide to take the journey. I would be thrilled to. 

We are the ones we have been waiting for and it's not an exaggeration to say TIMES UP! Stand with us now or live the rest of your life knowing that you chose not to. It's now or never. 

Feet on the Ground, Not Backing Down. 

Thanks for reading...

Kristin