We all have hopes and aspirations
Jose knows when you look at him all you see is ignorance, sloth, and danger. He wishes this weren’t so, but he is inured to your disdain and goes about his life as best he can.
His attire differs from yours. Before you even see his face, you fear his scuffed work boots with their thick, heavy soles made, you’re sure, for stomping. You are disgusted by his dirt-encrusted jeans held up by a wide black leather belt. You are offended by his embossed and studded hoodie heavy with symbols you know must be evil and his black t-shirt with its obviously ironic portrait of Christ on the cross. You shake your head at his out-of-season watch cap, knowing it must stink of his head sweat. How different from your polo shirt and Gucci loafers, your partner’s Patagonia pullover and yoga pants.
His skin is not the same as yours, either. It’s dark—swarthy, even. There’s grime under his fingernails and dust in the creases of his neck. How often does he bathe, you wonder. Or does he wash at all? From what little you can see of his hair under the watch cap, you know it is greasy. You refuse to get close enough to smell his body odor, but you are sure it is offensive. His eyes are probably brown-black and bloodshot, the pupils dilated, but his insect-like sunglasses hide them. Yours are blue, of course, or perhaps hazel, perfectly matched to your smooth white skin and carefully coifed hair.
Does he talk the same as you? Think at the same level? Is he even aware of how different he is? When you ask him a question, he hesitates to answer, then does so haltingly. Simple words and short sentences. Grammar off a bit. The accent you expected to hear. How much education does he have, you wonder. Can he read and write? He must be ignorant. He must be dangerous.
So different, yet so much the same.
Jose isn’t ignorant, he’s just learned to be deferential to white people who question him. He chooses his words carefully. Jose has a degree from the community college in Brownsville, Texas, where he was born. Yes, he is a perfectly legal native-born American citizen, just like you.
He works hard for a living, just like you, which is why his boots are scuffed, his jeans dirty, and he needs a bath after a day on the landscaping crew where you saw him. His eyes are sensitive to pollen, so he wears wraparound sunglasses to protect them. You do the same on the golf course. The watch cap? The hoodie? Style, baby, style, like zip-neck sweaters and sockless loafers.
There’s more to Jose’s attire, though. His Christ on the cross t-shirt reflects religious devotion, not ironic disdain. A medal of Saint Isidore the Laborer hangs on a chain beneath the shirt where you cannot see it.
He dotes on his kids and adores his wife, just like you do yours.
Jose has ambitions, too. He hopes someday to own his own landscaping company. He wants his kids to have a better life than he had just as he had a better life than his parents, so he juggles to save for their college as well as to start his own business. It is no easier for him than it is for you. So different, yet so much the same.
“If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you abuse us, do we not cry?”