How I Alter Public Space

When one alters public space, generalizations are usually based on one’s appearance. With Brent Staples, his characters judge him on the color of his skin and arguably his immense stature. Similarly, I am judged, but not for being a large black man. This week I paid attention to the way people judge me. I realized that the way I am treated is heavenly compared to the years Staples has weathered, and sadly he is only one of many others. Not just black people, but all people. Their torture overtakes my mistreatment, but it feels more apparent because it is personal.

I have whitish blonde hair with a fair complexion. Adults tend to think I don’t tan very easily. They remind me to put on extra sunscreen during the summer. In fact, I crisp to a healthy bronze (a bronze I lose about a week later.) Fellow students have asked if I was albino. The same students have asked if I am a member of the Hitler Youth. In the past, I replied with a defiant “no” coupled with the proud statement of my Norwegian heritage, which lead to nicknames such as “The Viking” and “Erik the Red.”

Years of sports have cultivated by body, so people assume I love sports. While I participate in team sports, I enjoy the camaraderie I have with my teammates rather than the sport itself. To be honest, sports aren’t all that interesting to me. I enjoy a good Tigers game in the summertime, but I only watch games on TV when they are important. That means the Detroit Lions, opening day at Comerica Park, and the Superbowl. That’s about it.

When it comes to altering public space, I don’t really strike fear into men and women. At adolescence, adults tend to dismiss me as just a teenage boy. In my summers, I guard lives at Somerset pools. A number of pools are designated for adults meaning patrons are allowed to drink, smoke, and have a swell time away from children. Sometimes the party gets out of hand and I am forced to calm things down. Unfortunately, I am a teenager which means I have as much authority as mall cop on a public street. No one listens to what I say; no one cares what I say. The drunkards see stubble or disheveled hair and attribute it to laziness. To them I am more likely to be a pot head or a high school dropout than not.

Now that I think about it, I actually judge people based on the way others have judged me in the past. I angrily dismiss questions, I have already answered, and discussions, I have already had, because of the way people have judged me. I am part of the pollution that is judgment.