You cannot always choose your neighbors, but you can choose whether to be the first of your race to live in a certain neighborhood. People who are the first to break into a neighborhood, so to speak, being the only person of his/her race are pioneers. They are paving the way for others to join them in the hood. However, I would not knowingly move into a neighborhood, being the only person of my race living there. You never know how you will be received until it is too late.

Since neighborhoods are always changing these days, with people losing jobs, changing locales, or having to give up their homes in a foreclosure situation, maintaining a cliquish attitude in a neighborhood is almost impossible. Therefore, being the first of my race to venture into a new venue might not be a bad idea.

There was a time when WASP neighborhoods did their utmost to exclude Catholics and Jews from entering their domain.  Within time, as immigration progressed, this racist attitude also included Asians, Blacks, and Hispanics. When several families of the same race moved in, the older crowd would move out.  Sometimes if an entire race took over, then Chinatown, Little Italy, and Little Tokyo would emerge so like people would feel more comfortable, being able to indulge in their favorite foods, speak their own language and not feel threatened by other races. Certainly there is safety in numbers.

Multiracial marriages and political correctness have now made it easier to integrate neighborhoods of many races and groups. New neighborhoods have now become more homogenized. True, ghettos and community enclaves still exist and will probably continue to exist in large cities. However, governments have tried integrating the rich with the poor by building suburbs where a rich neighborhood can be flanked by a half-way house or a project-type rental apartment building. It is a valiant attempt not to segregate or delineate the rich from the poor.

Along this vein of integrating neighborhoods for the good of society, old hotels have often been turned into domiciles for the homeless or the aged. New and abandoned neighborhoods now dot the country and cities as foreclosed homes have been vandalized, torn apart  by angry homeowners who have lost their homes. In this case, it is left wide open for people who normally could not afford to buy a home to do so now.  So again, being the newbie on the block can change the flavor of a neighborhood.

My small hometown on the East Coast has an Indian Reservation and the “island” where the black people inhabit. These two minorities had no choice either. One race was brought here to the Eastern coast during slave trading days and the other lived here and was pushed to the outskirts as the white man started to arrive on its shores. As years went by, some of us were able to gain some affluence, and break out of our ghetto confines and break into neighborhoods which were previously forbidden to us.

Being of Asian descent, we have had to do our battles when trying to move into certain neighborhoods from center tow living. I remember my father, after making his fortune, wanting to buy a house in the upper part of town. They did their utmost to keep him out of the neighborhood by not honoring his bid for a house even though he offered to pay more. In those days there were no bidding wars in the real estate market in a small town.

My father kept trying, and as the old guard slowly died off, he finally got his dream of moving into the neighborhood, along with another family of our race. We kept to ourselves, not knowing whether we would be welcomed or not. The perception was still that old money does not mix with new money; and one race do not mix with another, although on the surface everything was congenial.

As a retired senior now living in a rural area, where peace and quiet abounds, I was rudely awakened one night by male voices under my window sill. At first I thought it was our neighbor next door, deep in conversation with someone else. As it was 2:30 am, I was curious about whom would be disturbing the peace at this time of night. As I strained to eavesdrop on what was being said, I was painfully aware this conversation might be about my husband and me, as not-so-pleasant terminology was being bandied about, repeated over and over again, louder and louder.

This person was drunk and every inequity was being hurled about of working for a company which had foreign clients and after botching a computer program while at his work, refused to be held accountable to a foreign nation on this sovereign country that is his native land. It was an injustice and an indignity to have to answer to a minority in his own country.

When we moved into this beautiful rural area, the gossip was we would never fit in as “locals”. The irony of the whole affair is my husband was born in the area and his ancestors were the first to settle this land and every second person in this small community has his surname. Because we are an interracial couple, again we keep to ourselves.

We may have arrived at an era where racism cannot be overt, but nonetheless, prejudice will always be lurking as long as we have insecurities and misunderstandings. These do not necessarily encompass race. Gender, wealth, even age, go hand-in-hand when it comes to living on a street where everyone is an alien.