I love words. I love written words, spoken words, words revealed, and words that tumble around in your mind endlessly, never to fall upon a single ear. Words are powerful and potent, even when we don’t want them to be. Vocabulary and terminology is an interesting way to probe the vast expanses of our hearts, minds, and souls, especially as they relate to culture. What we say and how we say it often speaks to our progression as a people. For example, my late grandmother always referred to African-Americans as "the Blacks" or "the coloreds." There was no hint of prejudice or ignorance in her words, no trace of them in her heart. She simply used the words she had learned as a child and spoken all her life. Whenever I hear someone refer to African-Americans as "colored," I always want to inquire, "What color are they? Purple? Blue? Green? A charming shade of chartreuse, perhaps?"

A reference to African-Americans as "colored" people reflects an outdated and unintentionally hurtful perception that anyone who is not Caucasian is an "other" in our society. Measured against white skin, the skin of all other races is "colored." Younger generations tend to recognize the fact that, in truth, we are all "colored." After all, "white" people aren’t really white. We’re much closer to pink, but given the traditional association of the color pink with gay people, Caucasian members of the religious right might strongly reject to being referred to as "pink" people. Our skin color is determined by the body’s pigment levels and they vary greatly. I don’t know a single white person whose skin is truly white, or a black person who is truly black, or an Asian person who is truly yellow.

Unfortunately, prejudice is ingrained in the very words we speak. For example, when we want to say that something is a light shade of peach, we often refer to it as "flesh tone." However, if Tyra Banks refers to a gown as flesh tone, it may not be flesh tone for me. The impression is that "flesh tone" means for a Caucasian person. The insinuation is that Caucasian is the best or only way to be, that if you are not Caucasian, you are invisible or ought to be. (Gay people receive a similar message through the media and advertising, that we are heterosexual or ought to be, and we develop internalized homophobia.) On the same token, it can be argued, our culture labels black things as bad and white things as good. It’s wonderful to see a white wedding or to be "as pure as the driven snow," but we mourn on Black Friday and avoid black cats on Halloween. The heroic cowboy in an old Western film wears white, and the evil villain, tying the helpless maiden to the railroad tracks, dons black.

We even bleach the color out of our bread and rice to make it as white as possible—and in the process, we remove much of the food’s taste and nutritional value. One symbol of the American dream, the white picket fence, is never a black picket fence. One can argue that the associations of white with good and black with evil have a background in the Christian religion or our primal love of the light and fear of the dark, and these assertions probably hold some truth. Still, how many people get up in arms at the very suggestion that Jesus Christ could have had coffee-colored skin? It is undeniable that many historians and politicians have attempted to whitewash our history and culture, ignoring the great contributions of non-Caucasian (and non-male, and non-heterosexual, and non-Christian, etc.) persons. In the process, they remove much of the flavor and soul from our history, like sucking all the vitamin B out of our grains to make it perfectly pale. Words have been a weapon of choice for bigots and bullies throughout time, whether they are words written in textbooks, laws, and religious texts, or words spoken from the stage or the pulpit.

The words we speak and write often show intended or unintended prejudice against GLBT people, too. At the height of last year’s Michael Jackson molestation trial, my 10 year-old niece decreed about the King of Pop: "He’s gay!" Shocked, I asked her what "gay" means. "I don’t know," she admitted nonchalantly. Then I asked her why she would say that Michael Jackson is gay when she doesn’t even know what the word means. She shrugged her shoulders and replied, "That’s what the kids at school say." Inquisitive Uncle Eric continued, "If you had to replace the word ‘gay’ with another word in that sentence, which word would you use?" After pondering for a moment, my niece replied, "Bad, I guess, or stupid, or weird." I know that my niece has no real concept of the word "gay," although I often spy a glimpse of recognition in her eyes that her Uncle Eric is different in some way. Perhaps it’s the wigs and gowns strewn about my spare room each time she visits.

During my years in education, I lectured many students about equating "gay" with "bad" or "strange," as in, "That hat is so gay," or "Teachers giving tests on Mondays is so gay." My niece got the same lecture after her Michael Jackson remark. My favorite student, Kendra, declared several years ago during a tutoring session, "Tinky Winky is gay!" She in no way meant that the controversial Teletubbie was involved in a loving, committed relationship with Bert, Ernie, Spongebob Squarepants, or any of his fellow Teletubbies. (For the record, I have heard that Dipsy looks really hot in leather chaps and a harness.) Our ensuing discussion revealed, as I suspected, that Kendra had no concept of "gay" in the homosexual sense. I explained the homosexual connotation to her and pointed out that it is not kind to make fun of people because of their differences. Kendra was often the subject of taunting due to her weight and her dark skin color. After a brief, frank talk, one small, dim bulb of ignorance burned out in her mind, replaced forever with a tiny bright bulb of empathy, tolerance, and hope—and all done with a few words. I wish words always worked that way.