by Victoria Simon

Jew
Nigger
Fairy
Cripple
Cracker
Homo
Refugee
Beaner
Retard
Redskin

Have I insulted you? If not, I must have missed your label.

Oriental.
Dike.
Addict.
Four-eyes.
Dyslexic.
Old fart.
Dot not feather.

We label. We categorize. We pigeonhole. We compartmentalize everyone we meet.

Male or female.
Blonde, brunette, or redhead.
Tall, short, fat, or thin. A bit stocky, perhaps. Broad-shouldered. Sturdy. Solid.

Everyone labels everyone else, yet no one asks to be labeled.

I don’t get up in the morning, look in the mirror and think, “Well there is a middle-aged, white, married, working mother of four ready to drive her sedan to her urban job.”

But we continue to describe everyone with these labels. The quickest labels are outside descriptions but we label what we cannot see, as well.

You know how she is.
Stubborn.
Sweet as pie.
Annoying.
Quick.
Helpful.
Rude.
Faithful.

Even well-intentioned labels eclipse the fabric of humanity behind the label.

Delicate hands. Handle feelings with care. Gentle wash away sins. Air-dried tears. Made in the USA.

Do you know me? Or did you just read my label?