Who Are You?

A woman I know was the administrative assistant for a top executive in a major corporation. The head of a large division, he was responsible for several thousand employees, a position that gave him a great deal of power and prestige.

One day, as he came back from a tour through his departments, he stopped at my friend’s desk just before he went into his office. He waited until she got off the phone and then leaned over and spoke to her in a quiet voice.

“Do you know the young woman in marketing who does all the data analysis?”

“You mean the tall woman? Has long brown hair?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Amy Russell. She’s still pretty new here.”

“Oh. Well, would you please say something to her. The way she spoke to me, I don’t think she knows who I am.”

My friend, of course, agreed to do so, but his request left a question in her mind as well as mine: Did this executive know who he was?

Beyond the impressive title, the big office, and the bigger salary, was there anything there? Was he a real father, a real husband? Did he contribute to his community? What did people outside if his company think of him? What would he be when he no longer held that position—another ex-something, suddenly small, suddenly adrift in an empty life? Or would the real person burst out like a new tree shoot and become a towering figure at home and in his community?

I’ve taken to reading the obituaries in our local newspaper, not so much to see who died as to read about their lives. I do so as a way of showing respect to people I don’t know and for the most part, never even heard of. I’m happy to see they all have loved and been loved greatly. I smile at the nicknames some had, “Bumpy”, “Buddy”, “Toad”. I read with appreciation the many accomplishments of others, even though they shame the pitiful amount I’ve done for our community. Luckily, I won’t be around to read my own obituary.

If the person was an African American, I know what’s not mentioned in their obituary is how much harder their life was than mine, especially if they were born before 1964. I know we white people in Virginia never gave them the opportunity and respect they deserved. I know they had to endure scorn and prejudice. With all of that, did they ever get a chance to know their own worth and who they really were? Could they ever shake the knowledge that to some people they were just an ugly epithet and someone less—less smart, less worthy, less of a person than someone with white skin? How hard it must it have been then, and must be now, to know that you can be hated from a quarter-mile away just because you’re a different color.

If you’re not judged by your race, are you judged by your position? Do other employees look down on you because you’re below them on the corporate ladder?  Or do they treat you kindly just because you’re an executive or you hold the keys to the executive kingdom? By the way, did you ever notice how people look different after they have been promoted? – especially if they’ve moved to a level above you? For me—and perhaps you—it can be hard to separate the person from the position if we have only known them in that combination. Be that as it may, while others may not be able to separate you from your position, you have to be able to.

 So….Do you know who you are?