Old Bricks

I love the way old bricks feel under my bare feet in the summer. They have many seemingly contradictory but actually contrasting textures; smooth and rough, soft and hard, natural and manufactured. I cam feel some of the cracks on the ball of my foot letting me know they are real. This is especially true when the bricks are old, and time, water and footsteps have created a surface with out any sharp edges. These reed bricks are aged well into greens and browns as well. The William and Mary campus only has red bricks like these on al their walkways.

Leaning back against a short brick wall of three layers equally about eight inches, I feel at home here. The steps, eight in number lead to and from the Sunken Gardens. I still do not know why they are called “gardens” since it is just a grass field, one that I enjoy but still just a field surrounded by a dozen sets of brick steps with a lining of the shrubs on the horizontal sides and trees on the ends. The trees appeal to me more then the shrubs. Shrubs usually look too manicured and un-natural to me, these are no exception. Trees, well they’re tress and tell me great stories, sometimes I can hear them. They tell us where we came from and who we are and our greatness.

There is a white male sunbathing at the far end. He brought a folding chair with him but he is now lying face down on a blanket, no correct that, face up. It is not as easy to tell which is which with a man at a distance as it is for a woman. Women’s sunbathing attire is drastically different front and back, not men's. Why do white people sunbathe? Why do they not like their natural skin color? It s interesting to me that many of the folks who sunbathe are prejudice and discriminate against people of color but spend hours ad days sunbathing every summer trying to get darker. And then they pay to go in microwave-type machines in the winter to further avoid looking like themselves. What is wrong with their skin that they need to try to change races to appear sexy? Why does they attach healthiness to tanning? For people like me, it is not a matter of health or anything else. My skin gets darker even when bike riding in the snow of winter.

If one knows the history of “tanning”, they know that before passenger planes were invented, having a “tan” meant you were a low-income, uneducated outside worker. Those with money and wealth would go to great lengths to not be exposed to the sun to not be confused with “the servants” who had “tanned” during the summer. The came passenger planes and vacations to Florid and other southern USA beach destinations. The cultural climate changes because now having a “tan” in the winter demonstrated wealth. Even “the servants” were not “tan” in the winter like them. Then came the bikini, the supermodel and finally “tanning salons”/microwave ovens for humans. Why do white people want top change their skin color, hair color, nail color, lip color and now with fake colored contact lenses, their eye color so much? If “white is right” then why are they are trying so hard not to be white?

Of course, this is just one example of us humans not accepting ourselves for who we are. White peoples obsession with looking different is not ht beginning nor the most glaring example of lacking self-acceptance. For me personally, this takes many shapes and forms. As an Italian male like many others similar to me, I have a lot of body hair. Depending on the day and my feelings about myself on that day, will determine whether I will be wearing a tank top on the beach or shirtless. Ironically, two of the women that I have been serious partners of mine, partially chose me because they like men with thick dark body hair. But this did nothing to ease my insecurities.

The red bricks are still here. After sitting ion them for a while, my butt is starting to hurt. What felt pleasurable then, now feels rough and stiff on the heals of my feet. Time to go. I say goodbye to a good friend at dinner tonight. I will miss her even though I am the one leaving. I will miss these Sunken Gardens without a garden. Time to go…