Mind-full Monday - Guilt, Regret, Anger

This weekend we held a garage sale. That's not terrible, or terribly important, or even terribly exciting. But there is something I am upset with myself about. We live in Texas. There are many people of Hispanic (mostly Mexican) heritage that speak no or very little English. While two such women were browsing our used goods, there was a white woman that came through, looked at their collection of items which was mostly old baby clothes, and made a comment in an accusatory tone about their probable intention of reselling them. Why the hell it mattered to her what they were doing, I have no idea. I'm just glad that was two arm-fulls of baby clothes that I didn't have to pack back up and either store or donate. If they wanted to take them home and burn them, I wouldn't be offended, because if something of ours makes it out to the garage sale, my emotional attachment to it is gone.

I don't know if they understood or even heard her, but I did, and I should have said something.  Instead, I let her go without a word about it. It's eating me up inside. I wish I had a time machine, and I would go back and tell her to keep her comments to herself or get the hell off of my property. But I don't have a time machine. I wish I could tell the women who were standing there how sorry I am that I did not stand up for them in my poor, broken Spanish. But I doubt I would recognize them if I see them again.

I don't understand how people have so much hate. There are despicable characters of every age, race, faith, sex, and other basis on which people are judged. Just the same, there are good, or mostly good, characters in each category, as well. Is it fear? Was she afraid that they are harming her or her lifestyle? Afraid they are going to gain some kind of upper hand? They are people, trying to live their lives and support families. 

I hate confrontation*. I hate violence between people. I hate the exchange of harsh words. It makes me uncomfortable and upset, even when it does not involve me. I allowed my hatred of confrontation to allow other women to be talked down to, bullied, by a woman who felt she was superior, but by what I gathered was no different save for the color on her skin (and her lack of respect). I can not put into words how heavily this weighs on my heart. I'm full of guilt and regret about this, and I am angry with myself for not standing up for them, for being a coward.

Until next time,

Julia.

*I exclude constructive criticism and respectful conversations of opposing views from this definition of confrontation, because I know that change must start somewhere, and I believe in communicating even when it is an unpopular opinion or goes against the norm. There is a difference, though, between yelling back and forth and calmly conversing.