A couple of weeks ago, I was asked what it meant to have privilege. I know that my social, cultural and economic situation has advantaged me incessantly. But, to my shame, I was unable to answer the question. I never took the time to analyze the parts of my life that are rooted in my privilege and instead just blindly took everything for granted.
I hope by compiling a list I will finally acknowledge and check my privilege:
My privilege means that I always expect a warm bed and a roof over my head every night. It means that if I don’t have freshly prepared meals in front of me I will throw a fit.
My privilege means that I never have to worry that a law will pass that prohibits my right to vote.
My privilege means that I am a materialist. It means I became disgustingly upset when I lost my Nalgene, almost as if I lost a best friend rather than a plastic water bottle. It means that part of my soul dies every time I scratch my boots.
My privilege means that I can have an excessive amount of free time. Because I’m not expected to find a job to support myself or my family, when I’m not at school I can focus my energy on concerts, workouts, dancing, etc. I can binge-watch Netflix or read an excessive amount of poetry. I have the time and energy to worry about useless things like whether I’m receiving the full “freshman experience” or if I have enough friends.
My privilege means that no one ever told me that I wasn’t good enough. I grew up in an insulated world where my family and friends protected me from harsh reality and disappointment. My entire future was displayed on a golden platter; I could be or do anything I wanted. If I told my family that I was going to be an astronaut, or the president, or a doctor they would be the first to extend a hand and help me rise. I’m not afraid to take risks because I know there will always be someone to catch me when I fail.
My privilege means I never experienced what Francis Beale called “Double Jeopardy”.
My privilege means I have the ability to run; to do yoga; to ski; to dance; to fall down and not have worry about breaking. It means that my childhood wasn’t riddled with trips to the hospital and my bathroom shelf isn’t packed with a variety of prescriptions.
My privilege means my parents intentionally moved to the best school district in my town in order to send their two daughters to the finest schools possible. It means that since the age of three, my parents had impounded the belief that I would go to college. When I started applying, my parents told me to not look at the tuition cost because they would help me get to wherever I wanted to go.
My privilege means that, despite not paying a cent for tuition, I can still complain about the food served in the cafeteria at my private, liberal arts college
My privilege means that the last nineteen years of my parents lives’ were spent in PTO meetings, swim meet stands, in the audience at out of tune orchestra concerts. Their job titles included chauffeur, chef, cheerleader, coach and lacrosse team presidents.
My privilege means that when I am pulled over for speeding, I do not have to fear for my life. In fact, if I start crying I can probably get out of any charges.
And that is just the start.
