Everyone Is Welcome At Our Table

Everyone Is Welcome At Our Table

Randall Galbreath and John Paul Derryberry

It's a fact we all know: no one truly knows anyone. Yet, we jump to judgments about others quickly and allow those judgments to be our guiding light about a person. People are complex, but our brains attempt to make them simple, digestible in small, stereotypical, bite-sized chunks. With our preconceived notions about who someone is, we separate people into categories. Quickly we create the have's and have nots, those people vs. these people, by race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation. We have a million ways to convince people they are different when, in reality, we need a million ways to show people how we are connected. Today with the help of an old co-worker, we challenge that notion. Two men-- one white, one black, one gay, one straight, one who spent his formative years in a city and the other on a dirt road in nowhere-- share first impressions. We banter about second chances and how we always have more in common than we realize. 

My first impression: 

I met Randall in the dimly lit basement of an office building. He was a direct support professional for a new, forward-thinking autism care program. He stood out for no other reason than he is a black guy in Iowa, and even in Iowa City, the liberal hotbed of Iowa, you still stick out if you're black. Other than that, we seemed a lot alike, young professionals in the social work field, assisting people who lack specific abilities to garner more access. 

What struck me over the next couple of months was his patience with such challenging clients. He never panicked in a crisis. He always found a way to joke away a bad day and wanted to get better so his client's lives could improve. I liked him a lot. If we could clone people like Randall, the social work field would achieve the lofty outcomes we aim to achieve. Heck, if anything ever happens to me where I need direct support workers, my wife has strict orders to pay Randall whatever it will take for him to be my caretaker. 

I found out later one night, after a fundraiser, that Randall was gay, originally from Chicago, and a sneaky funny dude. He'll probably thinks I noticed something about his behavior that tipped off his sexual orientation before the reveal. It didn't. Maybe, more importantly, I didn't care. Gay, straight, trans, or something else, our job was to better our clients' lives, and he did that. Just that fact alone makes him welcome wherever I am. Years later, when he wrote an excellent blog (What Happened When I Realized I Was Planning My Suicide), I found out that he struggles with depression and suicidal thinking. This guy and I are two peas in a pod. We love social work, we love demanding clients, we love Iowa City, both struggle with mental health issues from time to time, and writing things out helps us process. 

Randall's first impression:

I first met John in our employer's basement, where my department was headquartered inside a yellow windowless room. For reasons beyond the nature of the room, this wasn't a typical basement, and I learned over time that John wasn't an average guy. At first glance, he appeared to be just that, a regular white guy. The only thing that seemed to set him apart was his immaculate ginger beard. It didn't take long for my basement cohort and me to discover the stark contrasts between the demeanors of John and his professional counterpart. She was a petite Asian woman with a severe authoritarian presence, and he obviously was not.

Aside from our encounter in the basement, one of my earliest memories of John took place in a rusty purple minivan. We had both been recently introduced to a new client who I would be staffing and John would have on his caseload. To get to know this client better and before entering him to programming, I was asked to spend some time with him. John would be joining us With this info, and the fact John was a little older than me and had what I viewed as a more formidable job title, I thought we would lead, I was wrong. 

He insisted I drive the rusty purple van, and our new client would sit shotgun while John sat behind us. This made me nervous. Was I being watched? Would John be judgemental of my driving skills? I barely knew this man, and yet I found myself wanting to impress him. I was 23 and had recently started coming to terms with my daddy issues, but this wasn't that. Or, at least, I didn't think so. Back in the van, we were heading towards an apple orchard outside of town. I was going too fast around a curve and caused the tires to squeal when I corrected myself. I thought for sure John was going to request I pull over and switch places with him at best, or revoke my driving privileges with our employer, at worst. I was wrong. He said nothing at all. I caught a glimpse of his physical reaction in the rearview mirror, but no judgment was cast. 

While at the apple orchard, I remember being worried I would say or do the wrong thing with our new client. He was unlike any other client I had previously worked with but John had no critiques about my interactions. As the months went on, I divulged to John more about my personal life. I'm blessed with what I like to call a "gay accent." Hence, I'm confident I simply confirmed his suspicions when I officially came out to him at a company fundraiser. But I was still nervous nonetheless. How would this affect our relationship? Up until this point, I was a black guy with questionable driving skills in the middle of a field dominated by white women. Did I really need to make myself even more of a target by coming out as gay? All of my fears were unfounded. I've since realized that my desire to impress John was simply a need for validation. He gave this to me by making me feel welcome in spaces where I thought he was more deserving. Whether it be something as mundane as a driver's seat or something as complicated as staff-client interactions, like most people, I am riddled with insecurities and self-doubt. Not once did John justify them, and I provided plenty of opportunities for him to do so. He did more than make me feel welcome. He helped show me that I belong. 

Final Thoughts: 

Such is life, the need to belong, and when we don't feel that, we do not connect, and when we do not connect, our brain goes to "you don't belong." It convinces us we are not worthy of love, of our place, of our true self. So first glance at Randall and I, many people could point out all our differences, background, race, sexual orientation, age, fashion style, or whatever else. Hell, society has been doing that to generations of people. "You don't belong here," "You're not from around here," "We don't like your kind," are such common phrases I didn't even need Google to search for common phrases used by small-minded people. We all know derogatory terms people use to separate. Randall has heard them in person; I have not, which is and will always be the most significant difference between us. 

But, and it's an important but If you take the time for a second, third, and fourth glance, you find two people who have more in common and are members of the same club. People who struggle with mental health, have thought about suicide, maybe even planned it once or twice, and are trying to find the right balance in life to manage their mental health and lives. The number of people we can connect to is always more massive, more comprehensive, and has depth beyond our wildest imaginations. Randall and I could have invited so many other people into this blog and maybe we should have. What's the saying about needing to build a bigger table?

All I know is yes, we have our differences; that's what makes our interactions interesting. what makes us alike, that lowers inequality it all it's nastiness forms. It's the common bonds that lower peoples' stress, and therefore, their mental health symptoms. It's the ability to understand that mental health does not and will not ever discriminate. The question will always remain, why do we do so, then? If Randall or I could answer that, we would be shouting it a lot louder in more places than this blog. We can unequivocally tell you that we have both moved on from that type of crap. We hope you do, too. We decided to get into the bigger table-making business so more people can feel like they belong. We want less suffering in the world. So grab a chair and saddle up to our table.