“You can’t go as Apollo Creed for Halloween,” they said. “You’re white.”
It’s true: I don’t share the same racial orientation as Rocky Balboa’s opponent-turned-mentor from the beloved “Rocky” movies. Carl Weathers, who played the fictional heavyweight champion, is black. I am not.
When my friends decided to go as “Rocky” characters, I chose Creed, and never really thought anything about having picked a black person. That is, until every other person who heard the idea offered their doubt about my choice.
Of course I knew Creed was black, but I wasn’t dressing up to be black. I was dressing as Creed, who happens to be black.
All I heard the week leading up to Halloween did nothing so much as make me conscious of my skin color. It was the most aware I’d been of my whiteness since high school track.
At the time, when I was at a school considerably more diverse than the University of Wisconsin, I had the relatively inauspicious title of “fastest white guy on the team.” I joke about the title often, recalling those sprints with more than a little pride. But at times like these, when I am especially reminded of my heritage, it makes me wonder in which part I take pride.
Sure, I was proud to be fast, faster than someone else; proud to be the fastest something. But if it had not been for my being white, what would I have had to take pride in? I wasn’t even the fastest guy on the 4×200 relay team.
Fortunately, I didn’t notice it much back then. I noticed it when a teammate expressed his surprise at my speed. I noticed it when I looked around the 200-yard dash field in the state districts meet and realized I was the only white runner left. But I did not notice it that often. Maybe because I lost that district meet, while my teammate went on to finish second in the state finals. Maybe because I had more things to worry about on the track team than being white, like being fast.
That is the nice part about sports: they provide an opportunity for people to look at things outside of social contexts which otherwise might be present. A sad fact of my life is that nearly all my black friends have been introduced to me through athletics. The way I look at it, at least I have been able to make those connections.
Who knows what other influences I might have had as an impressionable kid? What paths would a more “sheltered” childhood have led me down? Participation in athletics can provide a forum for kids who might not otherwise play together to interact, and learn that one another aren’t so different.
But professional sports can have the same transparent effect. What child hasn’t pretended to be Michael Jordan while dunking on his Fisher Price hoop?
This summer I found myself taking batting practice. Naturally, in the midst of Barry Bonds’ record-breaking season, I started imagining myself as the San Francisco slugger. But then it occurred to me that it wasn’t appropriate for me to pretend to be Bonds — so I walked to the other side of the batter’s box and started swinging lefty.
At that innocent moment, as I was alone taking cuts in the cage, the only difference I perceived between the African-American Bonds and myself is that he bats left-handed. I could just picture an unassuming little boy making the same observation, and I smiled.
Hopefully, the same little kid would not have any reservation about going trick-or-treating as Apollo Creed. Drawing lines that limit Halloween masqueraders to costume as members of the same race only serves to further solidify the difference between people.
Obviously, there is something wrong with those who dress up in ways that denigrate and stereotype other people. I’m not so foolish as to say some costumes aren’t inappropriate, just as I’m not so naive to think professional sports are not free of racial tension. (On the night Bonds hit his 60th home run, I encountered a surprising amount of anti-Bonds sentiment at a bar. Some of those opposed actually admitted they only wanted Mark McGwire to keep the record because he is white). But there is no reason someone should be barred from dressing as a movie character or their favorite pro athlete.
This is a socially constructed taboo, along the lines of outlawing interracial marriages. Diversity and the coexistence of many different ethnic groups are part of the fabric of this country. Of all the symbolism in Rocky IV, there is none better than that a black man and an Italian-American represent the U.S.A. against a characteristically Aryan opponent.
