Jeff McCord: Why do we believe what we believe?

A few decades ago, my brother and sister-in-law were married in Lima, Peru. I was a young father at the time, but when the invitation came to accompany my parents to the wedding, my wife was the first one to say, "You've got to go." So, I went. God bless her for that.When I was a little boy, I had been to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls once with my grandparents, but after that it is fair to say that I had spent upwards of 99% of my existence within a geographical circle encompassing Sandy Springs, Georgia, and Kingsport, Tennessee. I have never been given to wanderlust, so why wander.For this column's sake, it is not really necessary to go over the details of the trip, other than to first say that it was absolutely extraordinary and secondly to note that the Peruvians really know how to throw a wedding.On our way back from Peru, my parents and I landed in Miami. We were all pretty excited to reach American soil. As we began to depart the plane after an overnight flight, I was charged with gathering some of my parents' carry-on luggage from the overhead bin. I quickly ran out of hands, so I reached forward to pass my mother my passport.As I exited the plane, a stern-looking DEA agent met me along with his companion, Rin Tin Tin. He looked at me, a bleary-eyed man in his 20s, arriving from South America, with multiple bags, wearing a baseball cap and wrinkled clothes. He asked me to step aside. His companion remained silent, quietly licking the corners of his snout.I looked for my mother within the line of people in front of me and saw her just cresting the top of the escalator, on her way out of the departure queue, with my passport. In a voice that I'm not proud of and likely several octaves above what I would have preferred, I shouted, "Mom!" The DEA agent looked at me stoically and then with a flick of his hand said, "Just go on." Rin Tin Tin only shook his head.I guess drug smugglers don't cry out for their mommies when they get caught. And I suppose I should feel ashamed or humiliated or something for doing so. And maybe I did a little when I was younger. But the fact is, I am not and never was a drug smuggler. I was only mistaken for one.And, it's not the only time I've been mistaken for something other than what I am. It's amazing the amount of assumptions that are made about a man wearing a suit or a man wearing coveralls, even if that is the same man. Whether it is in wingtips or workbooks, the same person dives into a sea of differing assumptions just by changing his shoes.We see more with our assumptions than we do with our eyes. And the lesson there is not to lament over how misunderstood we are due to it. The lesson there is to realize how much we misunderstand because of it. Its remedy doesn't come from loud protests, but rather quiet reflection.We all believe the things that we believe. Some are in concert, and some are in conflict. That's not likely to change anytime soon. But what can get better is for us all to take an honest look at our assumptions. Why do we believe what we believe, whether about people or principles. Are our disagreements rational or reaction? We owe it to ourselves, and each other, to know our own hearts before trying to change the hearts of our neighbors.By the way, a perfectly honest answer as to why we may believe what we believe is simply "faith." For many of us, faith is a default assumption. And it is why I believe we always have a shot at making things better, whatever those things happen to be.Jeff McCord lives and works in the Kingsport area. You can email him at docdavismccord@gmail.com.Pull Quote{span}It's amazing the amount of assumptions that are made about a man wearing a suit or a man wearing coveralls, even if that is the same man.{/span}