Different=Better?

In my young, ignorant days, I denied that there were any cultural differences.  I thought that was the "one love" way to think.  I am a hippy at heart, and want to think that people are all good, all loving, and that we are really all the same.  As I got older, travelled the world, and married a Mexican man, I now understand how to appreciate the differences, and there are differences. 

My eyes first opened to this concept in Turkey, when I met a man who scammed my sister and I into staying in town another night just so he could have dinner with us, and maybe more.  He ran the travel agency in town, and told us all buses were full, and that we would have to wait until the next day.  He invited us to dinner as a consolation.  Over dinner, the truth came out, which led to a heated discussion about business practices, and my sister and I walking out before the dinner was over.  That man was killed later that night, apparently killed in a fight over a different American girl.  It was that night that I began to open my eyes to the differences between cultures.

Again I find myself being the foreigner, the outsider.  Just take a look at the photo on my page.  It is me, the white girl, with my husband and his family.  You don't have to look very hard to see that I stick out.  My white skin, my light brownish/red hair.  What you can't see in the photo is my accent, which although I have worked hard not to sound like a gringo, still alerts people straight away that I am "not from around here". 

People know who I am; they recognize me as the outsider, and they respect me for it.  I am slightly disturbed by this unearned respect, but I suppose I will take it.  They respect me for the light skin.  They like my hair.  They ask me about speaking English, about "the other side".  They want to climb into my suitcase when I go for a visit. 

I went to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday.  She lives just three houses down.  I walked in and sat down to a lovely bowl of pozole.  I started to reach for the disposable, plastic cup that was sitting in front of me to serve myself some soda.  Her boyfriend quickly walked across the room and handed me a glass.  "No, I said.  It's ok; I can use this."  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye as if to say, "Don't be ridiculous"!  I slowly panned around the room and saw that everybody, including this man's girlfriend and best friend, were drinking out of these disposable, plastic cups.  I accepted the glass but didn't use it; I am very stubborn. 

What is so special about me, I wondered?  I realize, of course, that is not me.  He doesn't even know Mary.  If he did, he would know how flexible and unpretentious I am.  He would know that I have always been the kind of person to make do with what I have.  He doesn't know that, so he gave me the glass. 

I also realize that I am special.  In this situation, I am different, and that makes me special.  I realize the importance of my position as well.  Just as famous people use their celebrity for their causes, I will use my high visibility to show the people here that there is something else out there.  I will show them that women are capable, independent, and equal.  I will show them that they are every bit as special as they think I am.