Judgment Can Change the World

 

by Jessica Goldman

  As Mr. Vennero returned our first ninth grade biology test, he asked us to guess who received the highest mark. The classroom still reeked from the awkwardness of our first week of school. Since we knew nothing of each other, everyone assumed that the quiet kid who wore glasses and sat in the front of the room had earned the highest grade. It was a good guess; Jason got the second best mark in the class. But nobody guessed that it was the blond girl in the back row who received the best.

It’s mind boggling how many conclusions we draw about people while knowing absolutely nothing about them. Studies show that in the first eleven seconds that you meet someone, you have already made an average of seven assumptions about them.

The issue of ignorant judgments is one that has been disturbing me for years. I vividly recall fighting with Dylan, the boy who sat in front of me in my sixth grade English class, over a similar controversy.

“How many syllables are stressed in an Iambic Pentameter?” the teacher asked the tall boy who was glaring out the window.

“I don’t know,” the boy responded, “one?”

“ARE YOU RETARDED?” Dylan yelled, “Pentameter like pentagon.”

“Why does that make him retarded?” I asked.

“Because she told us 600 times” was the only response that I could elicit.

I had difficulty with the all too common use of “retarded” as a casual slur. My little brother, Sam, is diagnosed with Mental Retardation and yet has the best memory of anyone I know. After being told only once, he will wish you, your entire family, your bus driver, and your best friend’s dog a happy birthday every year. He could also tell you what day of the week any date will fall this year, last year, five years ago, and exactly what he did that day. So how is the kid who didn’t remember that iambic pentameter has five stressed syllables remotely similar to my little brother?

Years later, and I am still realizing the complexity of false assumptions. This summer I worked for College and Community Fellowship, helping women who were incarcerated to attain an education and turn their lives around. The first thing I noticed when I met my boss was her shoes: gorgeous Louboutin stilettos. The second thing I noticed was her grin which instantly warmed the cool, professional work space. For months I worked under the wing of Letisha. Since she had been engaged in complex policy work, I assumed that Tish had attended a prestigious law school. One day, she walked into the office sporting a new professionally stylish haircut that maintained her edgy Brooklyn attitude, “Nice do,” I commented.

“Thanks,” she laughed, “I told the hairdresser that I spent sixteen years in prison and I promised myself this luxury in my new life.” I was shocked- I had no idea that Letisha was ever in prison. Immediately, I realized that I was guilty of committing the very same mistake that I hate so much, making ignorant assumptions.

As Mr. V handed back my biology test and the class shockingly stared as I gloated my freshman victory, I overheard some boys whispering about me. Apparently, no blonde haired pageant girl could ace an honors bio test. That night I became sick and tired of the bimbo treatment and I stole a bottle of my mom’s black hair dye. As I poured the syrup into my hands, I thought again about what I was doing. All the stereotypes about blondes, the rumors, the vicious judgments- will they really stop with some hair dye? And then I realized. Why should I change myself…when I can change the world instead?