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Race & Ethnicity

Reflections from a token black friend

"In the past, I've usually stayed quiet on these issues. Often, the pain of diving deep into them was too much to regularly confront."

Reflections from a token black friend

I am regularly the only black kid in the photo. I have mastered the well-timed black joke, fit to induce a guilty "you thought it but couldn't say it" laugh from my white peers. I know all the words to "Mr. Brightside" by the Killers.

I am a token black friend. The black one in the group of white people. This title is not at all a comment on the depth of my relationships; I certainly am blessed to have the friends that I do. But by all definitions of the term, I am in many ways its poster child. And given the many conversations occurring right now around systemic racism, it would feel wrong not to use my position as a respected friend within a multitude of different white communities to contribute to the current dialogue. I believe my story speaks directly to the covert nature of the new breed of racism — its structural side, along with implicit bias — and may prove helpful to many I know who seek a better understanding.


. . .

Growing up, I lived in the inner city of Boston, in Roxbury. I attended school in the suburbs through a program called METCO — the longest continuously running voluntary school desegregation program in the country, which began in the late 1960s. My two siblings and I attended school in Weston, Massachusetts, one of the nation's wealthiest towns. The place quickly became our second home, and alongside Boston, I would count it equally as the place I was raised. All three of us did very well by all standards. We had all been co-presidents of the school, my brother and I were both football captains, and all three of us went on to top-end universities.

For those wondering about the structural side of systemic racism, I'd ask you to consider a few questions. First: Why does METCO still exist? Segregation ended more than 60 years ago, yet there is a still a fully functioning integration program in our state. We haven't come very far at all. Many of our schools remain nearly as segregated as they were in the 1960s.

Second: What is the point? Weston improves its diversity. Without us, most of Weston's students would go through all those years seeing possibly three or four local black faces in their schools (and that's the reality for many white people in this country). As for the Boston students, most of whom are black, they receive a much higher-quality education. Property taxes, a structural form of racism meant to allow segregation to endure, have ensured that while schools have grown increasingly better in our suburbs, the inner-city schools continue to struggle with resources, attendance, and graduation rates.

Lastly: Why was I able to be so successful? A major criticism of the METCO program is that it doesn't produce better outcomes for its students than the city schools, so it just acts as a brain drain from the city. I am an exception. I held leadership roles in the school, was an accomplished athlete and student, and went on to what was, at the time, the best public university in the country. What's easily overlooked, though, is how my circumstances differed from the average student of color coming from the city. I came from a two-parent household. My mother was able to work from home our entire life, so she could take us places when we needed. Compared to other black families, we were relatively well-off financially, which afforded me a car in high school and thus allowed me to be highly involved. I had a stable church and home life and food security. This combination is uncommon for a young black kid in America.

In a piece my brother wrote reflecting on the current situation, he considered whether black privilege was real. He and I have both considered how our differences from the common story of black people made us "privileged." For instance, our immersion in the white community, our success in school and now in the workforce, and the fact that we grew up in a middle-class black household (highly uncommon in Boston) led us to believe we had somehow transcended the plight of the black man. Yet, what scared us both so much as we watched the videos of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd is that we clearly had not. In both cases, it could have been us. There is no escape. There is no level of success that will spare you. We are black men, and that is all that matters to some.

. . .

In the past, I've usually stayed quiet on these issues. Often, the pain of diving deep into them was too much to regularly confront. College changed many of my attitudes, but none more so than my full acceptance that racism is alive and well around me.

In college, I sought out more black friends, choosing to room with three people of color because I wanted to grow more connected to that side of my identity. The room afforded me a space to appreciate aspects of black culture and share stories of anger with people who looked like me. Many of my clearest interactions with racism occurred in college. It was there that I began to confront knowledge that roused more frustration within me, such as the war on drugs and its history as a weapon against black communities — although on every college visit, I watched people ingest more drugs and smoke with more impunity than I ever saw in the hood.

The length of my journey makes me inclined to be more patient with others in this process, as it's taken me this much time to wake up. We should all be reasonably patient with one another, but I would encourage individuals to not be patient with themselves and to treat these issues with the urgency they deserve. The anger on display over the past week should exhibit the need for change.

. . .

So many of my experiences growing up speak to implicit biases against black people. I think of how quickly others in school assumed I had a single mother, simply because my father, much like many of theirs, didn't visit school often. Or the number of times I've heard "you are so articulate" in a conversation where all I've shared is my name and other small personal details. Standing alone, each instance may seem insignificant or merely a compliment to my upbringing and education. However, the frequency with which I've received that comment tells otherwise. It reveals how a black kid speaking properly is surprising, and further, how it makes me appear worthy of sharing the person's company.

I also realized that the token black friend is not spared the realities facing a black kid from the hood. One morning, while getting ready for school, I heard my mother scream outside, followed by my brother sprinting down our stairs. In our 150-year-old home, every quick step down the stairs resembled a drumbeat. I followed my brother to find my mom standing at her car, visibly shaken, telling us, "He's running up the street. He took my phone." My brother and I, both barefoot, sprinted up our street and two others until we caught the culprit. I jumped on his back to stop him until my brother caught up, at which point Raj chewed him out and we took our stuff back — both too young and inexperienced in the ways of the streets to know we probably should have beat him up. The point is, though, we still had to go to school that day. And I remember being too embarrassed to tell any of my friends about what occurred that morning, thinking it would change for the worse the way they thought about me or where I came from every day.

I started carrying a knife during my junior year of high school. It quickly became a running joke among my core group of friends — whenever someone would say something out of pocket or stupid, we'd say, "Get the knife," and I'd comedically lay it on the table. What those friends definitely didn't know is that I carried the knife because I was afraid I might get jumped making my daily walk from the train station to my house late most evenings. How could my white friends from suburbia ever understand that?

. . .

In the wake of the past week's events, I've reflected on my interactions with the police. These interactions lifted the veil of black privilege I thought existed, though it was likely only afforded to me because of my military affiliation.

I was once pulled over in a cemetery, less than one minute after getting back into my car after visiting a friend's grave, only to be asked, "What are you doing here?" The cop had been parked right by me the entire time, so he obviously just seen me out at a gravestone alone.

"Visiting my friend's grave before heading back to school tomorrow, sir," I said.

The officer's aggressive demeanor changed only after I told him I went to the Naval Academy, at which point we entered a friendly conversation about his days at Norwich. What stuck with me is what he could've done in those cemetery back roads without another living person in sight — no witnesses, no cameras.

Another time, when I'd walked back to my best friend's empty house after a party, I accidentally set off the alarm, bringing the cops buzzing to his door. I wonder if the only reason it went so smoothly is because I quickly identified myself as a member of the military, opening their ears to hear the full story of what was happening. I think of what might've happened if they'd mistaken me, holding my military ID in my hand as I walked out the door, for something else.

It's tough to realize how rarely these possibilities occurred to me when I was younger. When I was pulled over numerous times, often without cause, driving to a hockey game in Weston or parked talking to my white girlfriend, I didn't consider that the cops might have had it against me. When I did witness these biases, I quickly brushed them off as insignificant.

Early in middle school, I arrived to our high school's football game with a group of friends, all white, to find three or four policemen standing by the entrance. I greeted them with a "Good evening, officers," and then quietly said to my friends, "You gotta befriend them so they are on your side later." My buddies thought it was hilarious, and I had succeeded in making the boys laugh. Looking back, I realize they didn't understand that I was speaking to something legitimate. I was no older than 12 or 13, and I already understood that the police would not be inclined to help me. It was only funny to my friends because they'd never had those sorts of conversations.

I think back to when my friends never understood why I wasn't allowed to play with water guns — or any toy guns, for that matter — when I was a boy. I'd be so excited to visit a friend's house and use their airsoft gun in the backyard. I used to get so frustrated when my mom told us it was "too dangerous" for black boys to do that and that someone would mistake it for a real gun. When I was 16, 12-year-old Tamir Rice was shot and killed while playing with a replica toy airsoft gun. I realized my mom was right.

I think of the way the black girls were treated as second rate in high school. Guys rarely tried to talk to them romantically, and if they did, others discussed it with an undertone of comedy. I never felt this way, personally, but didn't realize until college that my silence was compliance. I was participating in denying dignity to the black women around me.

This attitude from my white friends didn't end in high school, either. This past year, I was at a bar in Narragansett, Rhode Island, where I'd quickly befriended one of the guys my friend had brought with him. At one point, I expressed my interest in a girl who had just entered the bar. He asked me to point her out, so I did, also noting that she was black. He responded, "Yeah bro, she's cute, but you could have one of the white girls here!" I questioned his statement, and he realized it didn't fly with me. We eventually moved on and continued the night, but I couldn't get it out of my head. He truly didn't think anything of it when he said it. And he assumed that I would agree with him. To him, the preference for white women was undisputed, so he suggested it unapologetically. It was especially hard for me because, outside of that statement, there was nothing to suggest he was racist. He had treated me with nothing but love and admiration and accepted me into his crew. It was simply ignorance, which had probably been reinforced countless times. That was difficult to wrestle with.

. . .

These attitudes directly contribute to and maintain systemic racism within our society. Our disparate relationships with the police, along with messages sent to the black males when they "speak properly," or to black girls about their inferiority (spoken or unspoken), paint an inaccurate picture of what a black person is supposed to be. These attitudes foster the ignorance and apathy that is so rightly being called out right now. They ensure the survival of this corrupt system.

I think of times when my own ignorance let me buy into the insensitivity shown toward the black struggle, often to induce laughs. During a visit to a Louisiana plantation during my sophomore year of high school, I shamefully recall posing for a picture with a noose around my neck. I remember walking around downtown New Orleans later that evening with it around my friend's neck, me jokingly walking him like a dog. Two black guys on the street, a bit older than us, said to me, "That's not fucking funny, bro." I immediately filled with guilt upon recognizing my stupidity, and I struggle even today to understand what made me think either were permissible at the time. Sharing that story relieves some of the guilt, yes, but it also speaks to how being wrapped up in white teen culture led me to buy into, and even spearhead, the insensitivity that is often exhibited toward issues of black struggle that are incorrectly categorized as "in the past."

If you don't agree, why did none of my white friends call me out for it? Yes, we were young at the time, but I'd ask: Why didn't we know any better? We assumed the pain of that type of racism was dead, but we all just witnessed a modern-day lynching on camera.

Then there are the instances most white people will recognize, though they probably never knew how damaging their words were. Every token black friend can recall the times when a white friend chooses to dub you "the whitest black kid I know." It's based on the way I speak or dress or the things I'm into, and it's a comment on me not fitting the image they have of a black person. When I resist accepting such a title, the white person claims it's a compliment — as if the inherent superiority of whiteness should leave me honored to be counted among their ranks.

More impactfully, it suggests that my blackness is something that can be taken from me. That my identity as a black man fades because I am into John Mayer or I've visited the Hamptons. And further, it assumes that my black identity is not something I am proud of. It ignores the fact that the acculturation and assimilation I experienced growing up with all white friends was not voluntary. It suggests that my blackness is a burden, when in fact, minimizing my blackness was most often my burden. Another example: when I am criticized by my white friends for code-switching when I am with my black friends, just because they don't understand the slang and how it connects black people to a common culture.

The biases are evident; you just need to pay attention. Believe me, because I wasn't spared from buying into them myself. It wasn't until I got to college that I began to realize how much subconscious effort I'd put into being as unstereotypically black as possible. Whether in my choices concerning the way I dress, speak, or even dance, I noticed that, without realizing it, I'd habitually quelled aspects of my black identity. And based on that ability, I consistently inflated my self-worth and considered myself superior to my fellow black brothers. I had unknowingly bought into the very biases set out against me.

. . .

I'd emphasize that most white people do not understand their level of ignorance — especially the good ones, who mean well, and that negligence is part of the problem.

Many of the white people I know have no concept of the role they've played, passively or actively, in perpetuating these conditions. They have no idea how much we long to hear them speak up for us and to embrace some of the discomfort around these issues with us. Furthermore, the good ones are oblivious to the level of overt racism still out there. I have been among my white friends each time I've been called "nigger" by a stranger. And every time, my white friends seemed shocked. They had been misled to believe that kind of overt racism only happened in the past (or in To Kill a Mockingbird). Comfortingly, they always verbally leaped to my defense, and the savior complex within them encouraged them to seek retribution.

In one vivid case, at a bar in Cape Cod, after I'd just finished a conversation with a friend, one guy, not realizing I was still in earshot or aware of my relationship with this friend, came over to him and asked, "You really talking to that nigger?" My friend was stunned but immediately came back at the guy, his anger for me visible. He then came to me, boasting that he has black friends as if that should warrant him a pass.

As much as each situation ruined my night, everything after went well, and I was embraced by a group of allies who wanted to fight for me when they heard that word. I had no further reason to be upset. Yet, probably only the friend who walked ahead of the group with me knows I cried my eyes out the entire walk home, unable to explain how that word garnered so much control over me.

The problematic result of these overtly racist situations is that good white people feel liberated from any responsibility concerning the privilege, structural racism, and implicit biases that do not make them racist themselves, but that they do benefit from. This moment is one of the first times I have felt it was not only okay but encouraged to share these things.

If there is one thing every token black friend knows, it is that we are not to provoke serious discussions of racial issues among our white crowd. We should only offer an opinion on such matters when invited to do so by our white peers. Further, we should ensure that the opinion is in line enough with the shared opinion of our white friends, as to not make it too awkward or ostracizing.

It doesn't need to be, and shouldn't be this way. Many of us are eager to share our stories, and we have been waiting for the invitation to do so.

. . .

I am comforted when I see white people call things out for what they are. When my friends and I rented a 16-passenger van for a New Year's Eve trip to Montreal, we found ourselves held up at the border coming back. The older agent, surveying the passengers, asked how we all knew each other, to which we answered, "We all went to high school together." The officer then followed up by singling me out, "And how do you fit in here?" What he was suggesting about my place in the group of all white guys was telling enough, and the guys I was with were quick to support me and point it out to their parents when debriefing the trip once we arrived home. If only they knew how often I'd experienced situations like that one. White people should know that we need more conversations about little things like this. It's not our job to heal the world, but if we can start by getting people to question small interactions and beliefs, we can begin moving toward progress.

The white friends I grew up with have shared with me how thankful they are to have had me in their lives during their developmental years. They wonder what attitudes they might harbor if they hadn't had a black best friend their entire lives. They arrived at college to befriend kids who had never met a black person in their lives, and they encountered countless out of pocket statements from those individuals.

I am constantly thankful that I grew up with genuine white friends, unlike many of my extended family members. My cousin said to me once, "I don't like being around white people… I always feel like they hate me." I was able to learn that, more often than not, that isn't the case. Still, my cousin points to the overwhelming sentiment that black lives are not accepted or celebrated by white people.

Recent events present a unique opportunity to begin conversations that have been waiting to happen for far too long. To both black and white people, I'd write that understanding is a two-way street. To my white friends, I'd tell you that while that's true, white people have a longer journey to get to where we need to meet. It is time for white people to muster the courage to call out those comments you hear from your parents or uncles and aunts. The pass has been given for far too long, and every time you don't speak up, you enable far worse words and behaviors. For those of you who think an old dog can't learn new tricks, I'd point to the numerous white adults who have texted me this week noting that they have been in their bubble for too long, and asking me to keep sending them content. It's time to pop the bubble.

My experience as the token black friend has allowed me a unique lens into many of the gaps that currently prevent mutual understanding between white and black people. I have spent so much time in the white community and enjoyed the privileges that come with that, yet I am still affected by these issues. Despite my story's obvious differences from that of the average young black man, I believe it speaks to the immediate need for change. Additionally, it serves as an example of a genuinely meaningful relationship between a black person and white people and emphasizes the ability of white people to be either allies or enemies.

I will never turn my back on the black community. You'll bump our music and rep our athletes, but will you stand with us when it's not convenient? The pain is real. The stories are real. Our call for help is real. My uncle posted on Facebook yesterday, "When the dust settles, I wonder if anything will actually change?" To be honest, I'm not sure how quickly or how much things will change. But I know that one thing is directly within our individual control. You can celebrate black lives by making a choice to inquire about them, to educate yourself, and to question many of the norms around us. You no longer have the excuse of being unaware of your own ignorance. I'd reword my uncle's post to a question that we should all ask ourselves: "When the dust settles, I wonder if I will actually change?"

"No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite." — Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom

This article originally appeared on Medium and was first shared here on 6.19.20. You can read it here.

Photo courtesy of Kerry Hyde

Do cat buttholes touch every surface they sit on? Science answers.

Cat owners sometimes have unique questions that even Google doesn't always have the answer to. This is probably the sole reason cat forums exist, but one kid who needed a 6th grade science project decided to skip the cat forums for answers and instead use the scientific method. Kaeden Henry, a sixth grader living in Florida, bravely pondered a question few (if any one) has been brave enough to ask: do cat buttholes touch every surface they sit on?

Since cats do whatever the heck they want, training them not to jump on kitchen counters is a feat even Hercules struggles to complete. These fierce felines don't care if you're cooking dinner or trying to get comfy in bed. If they want to sit somewhere, they're going to do it. The thought of cat butts on that expensive Serta pillow designed to feel like you're sleeping on a cloud can gross people out, but thanks to Kaeden, you no longer have to wonder if the butthole itself is also making contact.

Courtesy of Kerry Hyde

The curious sixth grader is homeschooled and well-versed in the scientific method thanks to her mother's PhD in animal behavior with a concentration in feline behavior. And, since they own cats, the science experiment was pretty straightforward (and directly impactful).

To complete the experiment, Henry and his mom, Kerry Hyde, bought non-toxic lipstick and applied it to each of their cat's anuses. Then, the cats were given commands.

Courtesy of Kerry Hyde

"Non-toxic lipstick was applied to their bum-bums, they were then given a series of commands (sit, wait, lie down, and jump up. Side note: Both cats have been trained since kittenhood with a variety of commands, they also know how to high-five, spin around, and speak.), they were compensated with lots of praise, pets, and their favorite treats, and the lipstick was removed with a baby wipe once we collected our data in just under 10 minutes," Hyde wrote in a Facebook post.

The results? Turns out that, no, cat buttholes do not touch every surface cats sit on. Now, let's all take a collective sigh of relief while we go over the details. Kaeden's experiment covered long-haired, short-haired, and medium-haired cats (if your cat is hairless, you better stock up on Clorox wipes just in case).

"His results and general findings: Long and medium haired cat’s buttholes made NO contact with soft or hard surfaces at all. Short haired cats made NO contact on hard surfaces. But we did see evidence of a slight smear on the soft bedding surface. Conclusion, if you have a short haired cat and they may be lying on a pile of laundry, an unmade bed, or other soft uneven surface, then their butthole MAY touch those surfaces!" Hyde shares.

Now every curious cat owner can rest easy knowing that as long as their cat has hair, their bare bottom balloon knot is not touching the majority of surfaces in their home.

Courtesy of Kerry Hyde

The amusing experiment caught the Internet's attention. People laughed and commented, with one person writing, "This is probably the most useful information I’ve learned from a science fair project."

"Good to know!...I can now eat my sandwich left on the counter with confidence!" another writes.

Courtesy of Kerry Hyde

"A+++!!! Whew!! I am very grateful for your sciencing on this subject. My fears from walking in on my cat sitting on my laptop keyboard and subsequently being grossed out and cleaning furiously in a hyper-ocd manner have been somewhat allayed and now maybe I won’t have to use QUIIITE so many wipes." someone chimes in.

"Finally.. Someone answers the important questions!!"

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Teenager is baffled.

As if the SAT didn't already have a less-than-stellar reputation in terms of racial bias and the possible inability to truly measure a student's cognitive abilities, now a story about an expensive blunder is once again making the rounds on social media. Back in 1982, one math question on the test was completely impossible to answer on the multiple-choice Scantron. How was that possible? Because the correct answer hadn't even been listed.

Pencil, SAT test, Scantron, testing, SATsClassic SAT test. Photo by Nguyen Dang Hoang Nhu on Unsplash

Here was the question: Picture two circles, a large one marked B and a smaller one next to it with an arrow, marked A. "In the figure above, the radius of Circle A is 1/3 the radius of Circle B. Starting from the position shown in the figure, Circle A rolls around Circle B. At the end of how many revolutions of Circle A will the center of the circle first reach its starting point?" Is it A, 3/2; B, three; C, six; D, 9/2; or E, nine?

On the Veritasium YouTube page, they explain that if you were to look at the problem logically, you'd conclude the answer was B, three. Because the circumference of a circle is 2πr, and the radius of Circle B is three times that of Circle A, "logically it should take three full rotations of Circle A to roll around." However, that answer is wrong.

- YouTubewww.youtube.com

In Jack Murtagh's piece "The SAT Problem that Everyone Got Wrong" for Scientific American, he conveys it all came down to the Coin Rotation Paradox (take note of this if you want to sound super intelligent on your next date or job interview).

You can try this yourself. Murtagh writes, "Here's how the paradox works: Place two quarters flat on a table so that they are touching. Holding one coin stationary on the table, roll the other quarter around it, keeping edge contact between the two without slipping. When the moving quarter returns to its starting location, how many full rotations has it made?"

Again, most test takers assumed that the answer was three. But "in fact, Circle A makes four rotations on its trip—again, exactly one more rotation than intuition expects. The paradox was so far from the test writers’ awareness that four wasn’t offered as an option among the possible answers, so even the most astute students were forced to submit a wrong response."

Why in fact was this the case? On the Scientific American YouTube page, it's explained again: "If you replace the larger circle with a straight line of the same length, then the smaller circle would indeed make three rotations. Somehow the circular path creates an extra rotation. And to see why, just imagine rotating a circle around a single point. There are two sources of rotation here. One from rolling along a path—and the longer the path is, the more rotations. And another from revolving around an object, which creates one extra rotation, no matter its size."

- YouTubewww.youtube.com

Okay, one more try. Here, it's relayed in terms of actual astrophysics: "This general principle extends far beyond a mathematical fun fact. In fact, it's essential in astronomy for accurate timekeeping. When we count 365 days going by in a year—365.24, to be precise—we say we're just counting how many rotations the Earth makes in one orbit around the Sun. But it's not that simple. All this counting is done from the perspective of you on Earth. To an external observer, they'll see the Earth do one extra rotation to account for its circular path around the Sun. So while we count 365.24 days in a year, they count 366.24 days in a year."

What might be equally interesting is that out of 300,000 SAT test-takers who got that question at the time, only three wrote in to the College Board to challenge the answer. Ultimately, they had to fix the test, which cost them over $100,000. (In 1982, that's at least ten Happy Meals.)

The comment section on YouTube was buzzing.

gif, wrong, reaction, reaction gif, math problemYoure Wrong John C Mcginley GIFGiphy

This person suggests following your gut, even if that does mean challenging a professor or other authority figure: "In college, I took a poetry class and once had an answer marked wrong on a test. Confident in my response, I reached out to the poet themselves, who affirmed I was right and even communicated this to my professor. Despite not being a fan of poetry, that moment made me quite proud!"

Another person commented on the reasoning behind the paradox itself: "That part about the circle rotating around the triangle was mind-blowing. You instantly understand why it's not the same if the circle rolls on a flat line or rolls on a curved line."

And for this person, it brought peace of mind: "This was the one SAT I took, and I remember the question that didn't have a correct answer, and it wasn't until today that I understood the right answer. I can die happy now."

Robin Williams performs on stage.

Robin Williams once beautifully said, "I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy. Because they know what it feels like to feel absolutely worthless and they don't want anybody else to feel like that."

One night at a comedy club in Los Angeles, a new, nervous stand-up comic was called to the stage by the emcee. In one hand, she casually had a beer that she propped up on the piano. In the other, was her notebook full of scribbled, half-written joke premises and a few wine stains. She did her opening joke and the response was so quiet, she could hear the ice machine crackling in the kitchen. Joke two — a slight spattering of nervous laughter. Joke three got a heartier laugh, but then it went back to deafening quiet by joke four.

She mercifully got through her final joke, and said "That's my time" long before the red light in the back of the club even went on. She scurried off stage with her beer, like that rat in New York carrying a piece of pizza. Panicked, embarrassed, and frankly — a little hungry.

It was just one of those nights. The last time she'd done this act — same words nearly exactly — she'd received an applause break. This time, she was left questioning every one of her life decisions. Why had she come to Los Angeles? How was the next month's rent supposed to get paid? Why had she cut her hair in the "Rachel-styled" haircut?

As she was about to enter the hallway that led into the bar area, she could feel actual tears forming behind her eyes, like little faucets that were slowly turning on. "Don't cry at the comedy club," she told herself. Rather, "Don't cry at the comedy club AGAIN." But as the tears came anyway, she looked up and lo and behold, there was Robin Williams. She stuttered, "You. Are. One of my favorites. Ever." He looked at her, his blue eyes warmly crinkling and said, "You were amazing."

It hadn't been true. But the fact that he would go out of his way to make this total stranger's awful night into one of her best at that time, was just the kind of person Robin was.

I know this because that woman was me.

I wanted to tell him about the Mork and Mindy poster on my wall as a kid, and how I had cut out Mindy's face and put in my third-grade class photo. I wanted to tell him how much I loved his care for animals and for the unhoused and for the less fortunate. Or that because of him, I had a weird fetish for suspenders. (The last one wasn't quite true, but I still wanted to say it.)

But instead I merely laughed and said "Oh, thank you. But I can do better." He gave me a gentle look like, "We're all in this together," and even though I knew I'd never have a career like his, it dawned on me that it didn't matter. That being kind to others actually DID matter and that he was a lighthouse in a really stormy, pitch-black ocean.

I stuck it out and just a few years later, got to perform in the super cool and coveted "New Faces" show at the Just for Laughs Montreal Comedy Fest. Didn't kill there either, but I was able to step back and look down from an aerial view. How we uplift others, whether through laughter or kindness, is really the only control we have in this world.

Years later, after Robin passed away, I had heart surgery and was feeling down. I had read that cardiac issues could leave a person biochemically depressed and the first person I thought of was him. I messaged our mutual friend from San Francisco and asked if he remembered Robin speaking to him about heart surgery and depression. He only affirmed that yes, it was a very real side effect and that I should take it seriously.

I have always thought of the neurotransmitter Serotonin like it was a flowery perfume. Notes of honey, lavender, rose. When someone has a good amount of it floating through their synapses, it leaves trace of itself wherever it goes, as if the tunnels it burrows under pumps it out through a steam grate. But from what I've heard, Robin struggled with that too. And yet he still found a way to leave a lovely and inviting scent behind him, because he wanted to make sure OTHERS were okay.

heart, robin williams, comediansA heart shaped neon sign in the dark Photo by DESIGNECOLOGIST on Unsplash

I guess, even in his death, I was looking to Robin for answers. But one puzzle remains solved: making others happy is the kindest thing we can do, even when our own valves --- whether heart or perfume pumps --- fail to work.

Parenting

Teaching financial responsibility: the smart case for giving your child a credit card

“Helping your child build their credit score is an invaluable gift."

Nearly everything is purchased online these days.

With their colorful designs, customizable parental controls, and growing popularity among peers, it’s no surprise that kid-focused debit and credit cards have become increasingly appealing to families with young ones. Gen Z and Gen Alpha live in a vastly different financial landscape from their parents, and now, digital payments have largely eclipsed cash transactions. From concert tickets to food delivery to school supplies, nearly everything is purchased online. So, how can parents prepare their children for this new digital frontier and financial world that they themselves have not even experienced?

Ask the average parent about giving a credit card to a child, and they'll dream up a nightmare scenario: spoiled kids making endless purchases, unchecked impulse buying, mounting debt, and the development of poor financial habits. However, for the first generation growing up in an almost entirely cashless society, it makes sense for them to understand the value of money and how it’s used sooner rather than later.

Money, tree, financial responsibility, independence, financial literacyThe goal is financial independence. Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash


According to a 2019 CreditCards.com poll, six million American parents have at least one minor child with a credit card. Winnie Sun, co-founder and managing director of Sun Group Wealth Partners and member of the CNBC Financial Advisor Council, gave her three children credit cards before they entered kindergarten. While this might seem extreme, she believes these early financial practices helped her children develop healthy money habits. In her Op-Ed for CNBC, Sun notes that her own parents added her to their Visa Gold card when she was 13 years old.

"My mom specifically told me that it was for emergencies, or if I had permission beforehand to use it," Sun recalls. "She thought it was a way to help her daughter in case she needed money, but what she didn't know then was that it also helped me learn how to handle credit early in life.”

Credit card, finance, debit card, swipe, financial literacyEarly financial education is crucial. Giphy

Financial experts are increasingly convinced that young adolescents should be included in conversations about money, recognizing that early financial education is essential for navigating today's digital economy. But when’s the right time? Andrew Latham, a certified financial planner with SuperMoney, explains that parents should assess readiness based on specific criteria.

“Parents should consider their child’s ability to handle financial responsibilities, understanding of money management and the overall need for a card. If a child can budget their allowance and has consistent needs to make purchases independently, they may be ready for a card,” he explains.

And which option is better for kids: debit or credit? Well, there are distinct advantages and potential drawbacks associated with both, which parents should consider carefully.

Credit cards

The primary benefit of getting your child a credit card is building a credit history. Credit history length makes up about 15% of your FICO score and up to 20% of your VantageScore. A longer credit history shows that someone has managed their accounts responsibly over time, demonstrating reliable financial behavior. As a result, lenders and credit card companies are more likely to approve applications and offer better terms to those with an established, positive credit history. By adding your child as an authorized user on a credit card with consistent, on-time payments, you can help them build strong credit from an early age.

Child, strong, financial literacy, credit score, money You can help your child build strong credit. Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

“Helping your child build their credit score is an invaluable gift,” writes Jae Bratton for NerdWallet. “A good credit score may help them secure a job, get lower interest rates on loans and, when the time comes, a top-notch credit card of their own.”

However, there are risks. Children under 18 cannot legally have their own credit card; they can only be authorized users on a parent’s account. As the name suggests, authorized users are allowed to use the card, but aren’t responsible for paying the bill. Therefore, parents will ultimately be responsible for all charges made on the card. If your child makes an expensive purchase, it could potentially affect your own credit utilization ratio and even damage their credit score. Jessica Pelletier, Executive Director of FitMoney, a nonprofit that provides free financial literacy curricula for K-12 schools, advises parents to remind their children that “there are firm limits…in place for authorized users.”

Debit cards

On the other hand, debit cards offer a more flexible yet tangible way for children to understand how to manage spending money. For Matt Gromada, the head of youth, family and starter banking at JPMorgan Chase & Co., he believes that early debit card access is a crucial component to lifelong financial literacy.

“Having a debit card opens the door for important conversations and real-world scenarios about the basics of finance—from spending and saving to explaining interest and how it accrues. It also gives your child a sense of pride, independence, and freedom, providing an opportunity for real-life experiences and learning,” he says.

Breaking free, financial literacy, debt, money, money management Break free of financial debt. Giphy

With debit cards, kids are limited to the amount of money available in the account, so they can't overspend beyond what is in the account. There are even modern debit cards specifically designed for kids, such as Greenlight, which offers a range of features that make parents and children feel secure and in control. There is no minimum age requirement for users, and parents can restrict spending at certain stores, set up safety SOS alerts, receive real-time notifications, and turn the card on or off remotely. This is also an easy way to transfer allowances to your child.

According to BECU, a financial cooperative, “a debit card can help your child learn financial responsibility basics such as keeping a card in a safe, dependable location, staying within spending limits, using a card for purchases, checking on balances, and monitoring for fraud.”

Of course, the main drawback of debit cards is that they don’t help establish or build a credit history. So, what’s right for you and your family? Start a dialogue today and discuss the best option for your children.

A collage of family photos.

Shannyn Weiler, a Utah-based interior designer, has sparked a debate on TikTok after urging people to exercise caution when displaying family photos in their homes. The discussion started a debate over whether a home should be decorated for visitors or the family itself, and if having a “shrine” dedicated to family members is tasteful.

The video began with a stitch from a designer passionately saying that one should “never" display “personal photos” in the living room. “So family photos can become a problem when they become what I refer to as the shrine,” Weiler begins the video. She shared an example from her life to illustrate why family photos should be hung judiciously.

“I got married when I was 21,” she shares. “We were both in school, absolutely broke, we had $50 to buy a couch, so imagine what type of couch that was. We went to go decorate our first apartment and lo and behold, there’s no money for decoration. So we do what most newlyweds do, we use our wedding photos, because we’re so cute and we’re so in love and we just love our wedding day. Everywhere in our apartment was wedding photos… it felt like what I call ‘the shrine.’”

“It’s very real. This also happens if you have one baby, and you might have baby photos taken and it’s the shrine to the one kid,” she continues. “This also happens if you have one grandkid.

@shannynweiler

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Weiler believes that people should hang artwork or photography about more than one subject. “They can’t just be on every wall with one subject,” she says. “We need to mix it up. There needs to be a mirror in the space. We need some Etsy art prints or something like that. We just need to mix it together to get rid of that shrine feel.”

The post bothered many who love having pictures of their family around the house. The vast majority of commenters were people who love having family photos strewn about their homes. "The house is for us not company," Sarah Murdock, the most popular commenter, wrote. "I’d rather have pics of my kids and our life up than prints of random flowers and art," Ty Harman added.

"I grew up in an interior design magazine and HATED that my mom never displayed any photos of my family. Felt like she cared more about material things," Alexandra DiGiovanni wrote.

family photos, interior design, taste, class, style, home design, photos, family photosA wall of family photos.via Stacey Rackley/Flickr

Others noted that people decorate their homes for themselves, not for guests. "OR we do what we want with the homes WE live in, not guests," Ergot wrote. "I like myself, I don't have a problem seeing myself everywhere. After all, I paid the bills," Gege Chic added.

Some people agreed with the interior decorator and said that having too many family photos in a house looks tacky.

"YES. Photographs of ourselves in my own house feel so weird to me. Narcissistic kind of Jamiecakes wrote. "I don't have a single photo of a person in my house. I think they look tacky," C wrote. "One friend's house comes to mind for me, it was tacky (for me) to see nothing but wedding pics. Like, do you have other interests? Just my opinion but also, they’re divorced now. Mixing in art helps," _sigred added.


Even though the post received a pretty sizable backlash, Weiler’s opinion is widely accepted in design circles. “To us, having too many portraits of yourself on display in your home is kind of like having a tattoo of yourself on your own body. It can come off as vain and tacky,” Sarah Han writes at Apartment Therapy.

Woman's lifestyle blogger, Joanna Goddard, asked herCup of Jo readers if it was tacky to hang family photos in the living room, and she received similar responses to Weiler. Some were passionately for it, while others were passionately against it.

"I have always felt like it was bragging to have family pictures in the 'public' areas of my home. However, in the bedrooms I have nice family pictures. If someone is close enough to me to be in the bedrooms they probably know my family. It certainly isn’t that I’m not proud of each and every one of them, just a pride that I don’t care to display to casual acquaintances," Bridget wrote. "I think people should be able to have whatever they want in their homes. I have family photos throughout my house and don’t care if it’s trendy or acceptable. My house my choice! Do what you want in your house," Jean added. After her thoughts on family photos went viral, Weiler posted a follow-up video where she shared an example of a student changing their mind about home decor.

“Sometimes in design, we hear the design ideas and go, 'Mmm nope, that's not for me.' Sometimes, we try those ideas and we still say, 'Nope, that's not for me.' But occasionally we try things and we go, 'Okay, I do kind of like that,’” Weiler concluded her video.

@shannynweiler

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This article originally appeared last year.