What is white privilege?
I was born in 1973. With a bachelor’s degree, I am the least educated person in my immediate family. My parents had a computer in the house before most people knew that personal computing was a thing.
I was sent to “enrichment camp” five days a week the summers after third and fourth grade where I learned to code in three languages, how to compose poetry, speak French, and other smartypants stuff.
When I was 11, my maternal grandparents, both immigrants, died and left my mom about $60,000. We moved to big house in a better school district. The high school had a planetarium. I never finished my junior year of high school.
I got a GED and applied to and was accepted by two colleges. In college, I met other geeky white people and helped start an Internet service provider where I worked for ten years.
Now I work from home, staring at palm trees from my sit/stand desk, helping companies with esoteric niche digital marketing concerns. I jaywalk with impunity. And while shopkeepers often stare at me, it’s because of my sweet hair, not my skin.
I am white privilege.
Excerpts from my mother’s remarks on this blog post:
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I don’t remember the French and poetry. Maybe you just never told us.
Also, you left out “After causing my parents great grief and heartache,” I got my GED and..
I hate the picture. But I think I have told you that before.
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(I’m an expert at posing for photos later to be frowned upon by my mother.)