After two weekends successfully dodging spoilers, my wife and I finally had a chance to see "Get Out."

Written and directed by Jordan Peele of "Key & Peele" fame, "Get Out" tells the story of Chris Washington (Daniel Kaluuya), a black, 20-something photographer who accompanies his white girlfriend (Allison Williams) on a trip to meet her parents (Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener) for the first time at their family home. What should be a potentially awkward but innocuous visit becomes anything but, as Chris quickly realizes something sinister is going on.

From left to right: Keener, Whitford, Williams, Betty Gabriel, and Kaluuya.  Image via "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.


Before I go on, I should mention that I'm black, and my wife is white. We met nearly six years ago, and I was warmly welcomed into her family.

Immediately, however, "Get Out" reminded me of a pivotal moment that happened early in our relationship.

I had joined my wife's extended family for her cousin's high school graduation in eastern Kansas. Rows and rows of mostly white teenagers sat in folding chairs at the 40-yard line of the football field, while their mostly white parents waved and peered at them through zoom lenses.  As we waited for the ceremony to begin, I played a game I often play in moments of intense whiteness (folk concerts, theme trivia nights, farmer's markets, etc.). I call it "Find Another Black Person," and depending on where I am, it's much harder than it sounds.

That day in Kansas, I didn't see any other black people.

I've played this game for years without ever really thinking much about why I play it. After seeing "Get Out," it clicked: This harmless game is more than just a way to occupy my impatient mind — it's a safeguard. In a sea of white people, I look for a lifeboat. And "Get Out" reminded me that maybe I'm right to.

Logan (Lakeith Stanfield) and Chris (Kaluuya) meet at the party.  Image via "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

"Get Out" is unsettling, suspenseful, witty in just the right places, beautifully shot, and well-acted. It's fantastic.

The rest of this story will have spoilers, so if you haven't yet seen "Get Out," get out.

As I watched the film — from its title theme, "Sikiliza Kwa Wahenga," a song in Swahili that loosely translates to "listen to the ancestors," to the tears streaming down Chris and Georgina's faces when they were in the "sunken place" — something stirred loose in me. Scenes of Chris dodging microaggressions from all sides while Rose gaslit him without abandon felt familiar — yet horrifying — on the big screen.

I'd say it couldn't have come at a better time, but to be honest, we've needed a film like this for years. It was frightening for the same reason a stadium full of white Kansan parents and their children left me looking for a familiar brown face — sure, nothing bad will happen ... but it could.

Whitford and Keener.  Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

To put it plainly, "Get Out" left me shook. I needed to talk about it immediately, and thankfully, I had a car ride home with my wife to do so.

I needed to digest what I'd just seen. "Get Out" was certainly no ordinary film. The way my heart lodged firmly in my throat when I saw the red and blue lights approach our hero in the final scene, only to be saved by his trusted black friend, his lifeboat? I saw my worst fears play out on the silver screen. It was just too real.

The sunken place is terrifying. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

While my wife and I are an interracial couple, we're also both women, so my experience watching and reflecting on "Get Out" isn't quite the same as what Chris experienced.

I was nervous when I met my wife's white parents for many of the reasons Chris was nervous in the movie. Did they know I was black? What was I walking into? But, as a black woman, I also had the privilege of coming to my future in-laws' front door without the burden of more than 150 years of assumptions and lies about violent black masculinity, hypersexuality, and predatory behavior (especially as it pertains to white women). It doesn't mean I rang their bell without worry or fear, but as a woman dating a woman, I know I didn't shoulder the burden of history as black men in heterosexual interracial relationships do, and I recognize that.

Chris (Kaluuya) and Rose (Williams) get comfy.  Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

When we got in the car, I turned to my wife. I knew we'd watched "Get Out" differently. How could we not?

I needed to know if in watching the film, she saw me. Not just a character in a horror film, but me, her wife, who faces fear, isolation, and anxiety about racism every single day.

We discussed the film in-depth the whole way home, but there was one part of our conversation that stood out to me because, in that moment, something clicked — for both of us:

Me: "When do you think about being white?"
Her: "When racist stuff happens."
Me: "What do you think when racist stuff happens?"
Her: "I feel bad."
Me: "You feel bad for whom?"
Her: "For whom? The victims of racism. I feel guilty."
Me: "You feel guilty after racist things happen. Did you feel guilty after watching the movie?"
Her: "Yeah, maybe a little. Yeah. It's so extreme though, you know?"
Me: "Yeah."
Her: "It kind of got out of the range of like, 'realistic racism,' I guess. Once we got into brain transplants, we're obviously outside of a realm. I feel like I felt more guilty when they were doing other stuff, the minor stuff ... that turned out to be major."








That right there — the conclusion she drew — is an important one.

Whether we're talking about Hollywood horror or real life, racism is never just small stuff. It may start with small things, like being followed around a store, having your hair stroked by strangers, or people assuming you grew up in poverty. Before long, it becomes voter suppression, subpar medical care, limited economic opportunities, and poor public schools. One racist misdeed begets another, and it all starts "innocently" enough.

Chris (Kaluuya) greets guests during the party.  Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

Punishing experiments on black soldiers like the Buffalo Soldier bicycle mission, the Tuskegee syphilis trials, the stripping of cells from Henrietta Lacks — these things don't happen all at once. They happen when a group of people is not seen as fully human by society. That's when these small things cross into what my wife called the "realm of the impossible" — a realm that black people in particular know from history is actually very possible.

That's the frightening reality I grappled with while watching "Get Out," and, while it didn't leave me screaming in the theater, it definitely keeps me up at night.

I adore my wife, and I know the feeling is mutual. But I was black long before I met her, so even as our families blend, my blackness won't.

My blackness is non-negotiable. It's not a hobby or a casual interest. I won't get bored with it one day and shove my blackness in the attic. It's here. Always. It's with me at work, at home, when I'm driving, and when I'm in a crowded football stadium watching a high school graduation.

Thankfully, my wife recognizes and appreciates that. But even on her best day, she won't know what it's like to feel so out of place, to look out into that sea of white faces and need a lifeboat. She can't. No white person can. But in that theater, for 103 minutes, a surprising and innovative movie helped her get a little closer to understanding what that's like. That's more important to me than she'll ever know.

True

From the time she was a little girl, Abby Recker loved helping people. Her parents kept her stocked up with first-aid supplies so she could spend hours playing with her dolls, making up stories of ballet injuries and carefully wrapping “broken” arms and legs.

Recker fondly describes her hometown of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, as a simple place where people are kind to one another. There’s even a term for it—“Iowa nice”—describing an overall sense of agreeableness and emotional trust shown by people who are otherwise strangers.

Abby | Heroes Behind the Masks presented by CeraVe www.youtube.com

Driven by passion and the encouragement of her parents, Recker attended nursing school, graduating just one year before the unthinkable happened: a global pandemic. One year into her career as an emergency and labor and delivery nurse, everything she thought she knew about the medical field got turned upside down. That period of time was tough on everyone, and Nurse Recker was no exception.

Keep Reading Show less
via Pexels

The Emperor of the Seas.

Imagine retiring early and spending the rest of your life on a cruise ship visiting exotic locations, meeting interesting people and eating delectable food. It sounds fantastic, but surely it’s a billionaire’s fantasy, right?

Not according to Angelyn Burk, 53, and her husband Richard. They’re living their best life hopping from ship to ship for around $44 a night each. The Burks have called cruise ships their home since May 2021 and have no plans to go back to their lives as landlubbers. Angelyn took her first cruise in 1992 and it changed her goals in life forever.

“Our original plan was to stay in different countries for a month at a time and eventually retire to cruise ships as we got older,” Angelyn told 7 News. But a few years back, Angelyn crunched the numbers and realized they could start much sooner than expected.

Keep Reading Show less
True

It takes a special type of person to become a nurse. The job requires a combination of energy, empathy, clear mind, oftentimes a strong stomach, and a cheerful attitude. And while people typically think of nursing in a clinical setting, some nurses are driven to work with the people that feel forgotten by society.

Keep Reading Show less

We're dancing along too.

Art can be a powerful unifier. With just the right lyric, image or word, great art can soften those hard lines that divide us, helping us to remember the immense value of human connection and compassion.

This is certainly the case with “Pasoori,” a Pakistani pop song that has not only become an international hit, it’s managed to bring the long divided peoples of India and Pakistan together in the name of love. Or at least in the name of good music.
Keep Reading Show less

Dr. Alicia Jeffrey-Thomas teaches you how to pee.

A pelvic floor doctor from Boston, Massachusetts, has caused a stir by explaining that something we all thought was good for our health can cause real problems. In a video that has more than 5.8 million views on TikTok, Dr. Alicia Jeffrey-Thomas says we shouldn’t go pee “just in case.”

How could this be? The moment we all learned to control our bladders we were also taught to pee before going on a car trip, sitting down to watch a movie or playing sports.

The doctor posted the video as a response to TikTok user Sidneyraz, who made a video urging people to go to the bathroom whenever they get the chance. Sidneyraz is known for posting videos about things he didn’t learn until his 30s. "If you think to yourself, 'I don't have to go,' go." SidneyRaz says in the video. It sounds like common sense but evidently, he was totally wrong, just like the rest of humanity.

Keep Reading Show less