On race, skin color, ethnicity…whatever you want to call it…as seen in Starbucks

At the continued coverage of the tragedy of Trayvon Martin’s death and Zimmerman’s release, I find myself repeatedly asking questions like, “Why is this still happening?” and “Why don’t some people understand the bigger, deeper problems?”  I catch myself as I head in an angry direction, a hopeless direction or where I arrived this morning while standing in an overwhelmingly long line at Starbucks, a questioning direction.

I was running late today and as a treat to myself for finishing yet another career endeavor, thought I would gift myself with a hazelnut macchiato and slice of banana walnut bread. The line was ridiculous, but the familiar fragrance and sounds coming through the portal to coffee heaven reeled me in. And since I was already running late, I might as well be late with a warm cup of sunshine in my hand.

Every seat was taken and the line curved through the cafe and almost out the door. On the comfy chairs with the mini-circular end tables nearby, a group of elderly men in track suits were people watching and talking baseball. They seemed to enjoy the ample line as it fueled their conversation. I smiled at their kind eyes as they spoke about all the women in line and that they didn't know it was such a pick-up spot. I secretly hoped I would be able to sit in their spots at their age and be just as spry and witty.

There must have been a student orientation or parent weekend at the nearby college, because there were teen girls in their crisp college sweatshirts acting a little mortified to be stuck in line with their parents for so long. There were healthcare workers in scrubs, ladies in Friday casual clothes with fancy, strappy, leather, summer sandals and a few university police officers with stereotypical bellies.

Then, there was me, observing the diversity within that Starbucks, not just in occupation or what was on the day’s agenda, but in what we call race, ethnicity, or global station of origin. Hues of skin ranged from cream to coffee colored (pun intended). Hair was braided, bone straight and every type of curl in between; up, down, short, long and sprinkled with grey. Some of it store bought and attached, too.

My point is, in that crowded Starbucks, narrow noses evolved for warming air before filling the lungs in cold weather climates, dark skin to fight damage from UV rays, and jaw structure evolved from the type of food available in a region didn't matter. These features we attribute to race come from an evolutionary need to survive in various climates throughout the world before the world could be traveled around in far more than even 80 days. We have turned race into the stratification of livelihood, neighborhoods, education and even the worth of one’s life. I don’t have an answer and frankly, that pisses me off. My blood also boils at the amount of people who don’t give a damn, who say it’s not their problem and who throw blame and responsibility around selfishly. Blame is a boomerang.

As commercial and overpriced as Starbucks is, I will now add a Utopian flavor to my coffee as I enter because within its walls (at least at MY Starbucks) I do not feel judged, less than, or looked down upon. I am simply another coffee lover without wearing my caramel macchiato with a dash of extra cream colored skin or my black coffee with a swirl of milk hair. I’m just allowed to be whatever Wonder I want to be, at least for that moment.