The Time I Called My Black Boss a Honky
By: Heather M. Edwards
Tags: Equality, Politics, Racism, Communicaton, Culture

The Time I Called My Black Boss a Honky

And the power of words

Colonel Sanders via Wikimedia Commons

When I was in high school I waitressed at an old folks’ home. It was an after-school and weekend gig with an unsurprisingly high turnover. We had to wear Colonel Sanders bowties and dip our hands in bleach. I didn’t smell any better than I looked after a shift.

The kitchen staff was 100% high school kids as wait staff/dishwashers and 100% adults as cooks/shift managers. I believe both were minimum wage positions so employees changed far more frequently than the residents did.

For a time I had a boss who claimed to be a modeling scout. He would tell us stories about all the famous people he knew and parties he’d been to in LA. He told us he was just working this job to “keep himself grounded.” He didn’t want to lose himself in “the lifestyle” because he’d apparently seen too many people go down the celebrity party rabbit hole. He drove a classic Mercedes and had long hair.

He was probably younger than I am now but when you’re a teenager every adult seems old. He bantered with us like equals though, he knew all about our dating lives and we all talked to him like a friend. He was the best of both worlds in that way — a confidant we could trust as much as we trusted each other but also a grownup who could give us grownup advice without parental lecturing. We told him everything.

One night he was teasing me about something or other and we started our normal back-and-forth. I don’t even remember what it was about that time but I decided to up the ante and call him something super goofy, something dorkier than dorky.

“You’re just saying that because you’re a honky,” I retorted to whatever he had said. I was feeling pretty smug.

“I’m, I’m a … what?”

“Honky. You’re a fucking honky.” I doubled down and gave my Black boss my most triumphant look.

What happened next I remember in slow motion. He put his hands on the counter and his body seemed to double over on its own volition. I couldn’t see his face. But then I heard the howl, a booming laugh that came from deep within his doubled-over body.

“Is that why the brothers don’t like me?!” his eyes were watering and he still had a hand on the counter like he needed it for balance.

He called my other boss over, a white woman from Lake Tahoe and told her what I had said. They instantly became a coven of two cackling over their cauldron of laughter. I had no idea what was so uproariously funny but I could at least deduce that I had used the word wrong.

It turns out it’s a racial slur for white people. Who knew! Judging by their riotous laughter — everyone but me. Proverbial hilarity ensued but no one was harmed in the making of my education on that term and its context. That time my learning curve didn’t hurt anyone.

But what if I had accidentally used a term that would have offended him? Like the time I learned that “porch monkey” is absolutely not just a harmless way to call someone lazy. I thought it was a cuddly way to call someone unmotivated — along the lines of couch potato. I had no idea it was a racial slur until I used it, thinking it was no different than when my Nana called me and my sister turkeys.

My Mexican friend and his biracial roommate asked me if I knew what the term meant. And then let me know just how incorrect I was — giving me the relevant context. I apologized and never used it again. No need for white tears or self-flagellation, just incorporate your new knowledge into your behavior and recognize that it’s not anyone’s responsibility, especially POC, to give you a positive learning experience.

I only recently learned that ‘globalist’ apparently is an anti-Semitic dog whistle. I had no idea. But I don’t use it now that I know.

The point is it’s ok to make mistakes — as long as you admit to them and commit to improvement. It’s natural to be embarrassed but don’t nurture your pride in these moments. You can lick your wounds later. If you use a word whose connotations are greater than your understanding, (or you’re completely racistly wrong), and someone calls you out on it, just say thank you.

Saying something you didn’t know was offensive or racist doesn’t make you a racist. It makes you ignorant. And before you implode with defensiveness remember that ignorant can just mean “doesn’t know yet”. Ignorant doesn’t have to mean stupid unless you refuse to change based on learned information.

And for the love of all that’s holy just be grateful that striking a few words from your vocabulary is the most “discrimination” you’ve ever had to “overcome”. Please don’t waste anyone’s time complaining that it’s racist or discriminatory that some people can use some words and that only white people are forbidden from using certain words. Just be kind.

I don’t know about you but I’ve got five seconds’ worth of energy to flip the tiniest of switches in my brain and not use a word or a term that can hurt people.

Remember when people used to buy entire books about random acts of kindness? Because they were actively looking for small ways to brighten the world around them? Instead of buying bumper stickers that say Practice Random Acts of Kindness or defensively obsessing about microagressions being “exaggerated” or “too PC” think of adapting your vocabulary as the opposite of a micro-aggression. Think of these minute vocabulary switches as micro-kindnesses — not random kindness but informed-choice kindness.

Merriam-Webster consistently adds new words to the dictionary. Don’t cling to crusty old epithets to assert yourself or defend yourself against “discrimination”. Grow your vernacular because humility is beautiful. Kindness costs you nothing and it is an easy way to tell your fellow travelers, Hey, I heard this part of the journey is hard. I’m not going to make it harder.