Guess who’s coming to dinner
The unexpected dinner guest, for me, is a six-foot drag queen with two-inch eyelashes and head-to-toe body glitter. But first some background.
In 1967, Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn welcomed their daughter and fiancé home for dinner only to discover that the young man was black – a “shudder” mixed-race couple in the movie “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.” Today’s generation understands intellectually how that played in the 1960s, but they can’t grasp the emotional upheaval it caused. The movie garnered two Academy Awards and debuted in the middle of the Civil Rights movement, making it both timely and uncomfortable.
As a social statement, the movie is about racism. But at its heart, the movie is about values.
The plot focused on white “I believe in equality for all” liberalism and put it to the test. Yes, we middle-class, we-are-the-world people believe that all men (and women) are created equal regardless of race – but what if my daughter wants to marry a Negro?
A test of values, while internal, is usually based on public perception. Spencer and Katherine knew that their world – their friends – would judge a mixed-race couple. They – a good liberal couple – would not judge, they would just love. But my Lord, what would people say? Which friends would they lose? How would their daughter suffer for her decision? (The latter question lies at the heart of white angst: “I’m not objecting because I’m a racist; I’m simply worried about the well-being of my child. I know how the world works.”)
My son brought a metaphorical black man home to dinner yesterday. In this case it’s not a spouse or black, however, it’s a documentary he’s co-directing about Susanne Bartsch, an underground fashion icon in New York City who pushes clothes to their limit and has a no-holds-barred attitude about accepting gay, lesbian, transgender and confused people – even business people and “normal” people.
The film, @Bartschland, is extremely independent and begging for funds on Kickstarter. (Yeah, give generously.) Vogue magazine tells readers to help.
“But why don’t you film something I can share with friends on Facebook?” I asked in uncomfortable white denial. “I’m cool with nudity and F-bombs and extremely proud of all you’ve done, but how do I share this with Aunt Lucy? I mean without her un-friending me?”
However, I raised my kids not to care about race or sexual preference or religion. In seventh grade, I sat my son down and asked if he understood the implications of “That’s so gay,” which his friends used a hundred times a day – and he stopped using it.
A relatively smart child, I made it clear to him that frustrating kids with an 80 I.Q. had equal rights, and their opinions, no matter how factually deficient, carried equal weight because they’re human beings. I marched in a parade, circa 1989, to advocate equality for everyone, regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation or any other marginalizing factor, and he sat on the sidelines and watched. After-school care one year was at the 95-percent-black Boys & Girls Club so, in part, he could understand what it was like to be a minority.
And now this: A movie and life and son that I admire, even if I don’t understand every nuance. And if that sentence brought a tear to my eye, I won’t admit it.
Now what do I tell my friends on Facebook?
© 2016 SmithTakes.com