Setting Fires on Ann Street

Sometimes, when I take my four adorable children shopping, they function as a chubby little happiness ministry. There's a whole bunch of people that smile when they side-eye us, and even more that stop to say hello or flirt with the baby. The grandparents are drawn to our cart like moths to a flame. Especially the lonely ones, whose babies are either grown or too far away too snuggle. I've come to recognize the look of the lonely grand, and I try to make time for a conversation if I can.

One such time, a very elderly white man sidled over, and we paused our hunt for good bananas so he could talk. His clothes were a bit raggedy and rumpled, and there was a drip of watery snot trembling at the end of his nose as he spoke. I got the feeling that he, more than most, had no one to talk to at all. Within three minutes I knew where all his children lived and what they did for a living, how long he had been a widower, and in which division of the armed forces he had proudly served. The children were mostly cute and only a little impatient, so I stood there as long as I could before the wild look in my five-year-old's eyes told me we were running out of time. As I was attempting to wrap things up, however, another lonely grand gave me the signal. She was not as old as he, and dressed very well. Makeup in place and a big, bright smile. She was also black. And as she walked over and remarked upon the delightful nature of my "juicy baby", the old man's face changed. Gone was the smile and the good-natured chuckling. He glared at that woman like she'd just slapped him in the face. After the exchange of pleasantries, she thanked me for letting her squish the baby's fat, fat, thigh (he's ticklish and he loves it) and went on her way. As soon as she was out of earshot, I was given a sound lecture. I live in Montgomery, Alabama, but I'm not from here-- I'm from Minnesota, so it is still quite shocking to me when I run into real live racism. I'm glad it's shocking. I hope it always is. This man thought it was indecent for me to let a black woman touch my baby. He scolded me for the example I was setting for my children. He detailed how "they" had ruined his neighborhood, how "they" had ruined the school system, and how "they" were everywhere now, and you couldn't even be safe in your own grocery store. It was all terrible. But the part that got me was his parting sentiment: "They think we owe them. You don't owe them anything!"

By this time, my oldest has noticed something is off, and he's staring at the guy like he has six eyeballs. I wish I had the courage to verbally fight him. I wish I hadn't been too stunned to say anything. I'm not sure where I would've even started. But, as I stood there mouthing like a fish, a pretty little black girl walked by. She was about four, and not at all shy. My five-year-old, who has a pronounced preference for the darker females and has since he was a baby (he once tried to grab the derriere of the mercifully good-natured black woman in front of us in the checkout line when he was two), was in full "flirt mode" within ten seconds. The little girl's mother caught up to her, and we laughed as they held hands next to the potatoes. I told her the "baby wants booty" story, and we had a good laugh. When they left, I simply turned to the white man, who looked like he might faint, and just said: "You have a nice day!" and ran away, abandoning the produce section completely. I do owe black people something. It's the exact same thing I owe white people or any other color of people. As a Christian, who views every single person on the planet as a child of God, and therefore an automatic brother or sister, and therefore a person to whom it is my duty and my joy to care for, I owe them love. And patience. And empathy. And mercy. And grace. And respect. And the benefit of the doubt. And a million other things that I try to show to everyone as best I can. (Though I often fail.)
The whole world could implode any minute, or at least that's how it feels. So now, MORE THAN EVER, we must love one another. You have a right to your opinion, even if you think black people (or Mexican people, or Korean people) ruined your neighborhood or your school or your state. Even if you think black people are somehow less worthy of what makes humanity great: our ability to love. Just be careful: as you classify one race as worthless, you may just be rendering yourself less human in the process. How much is your humanity worth? How much is theirs? If your immediate, heartfelt answer isn't "the same", you ARE part of the problem.

Be careful the fire you set.

Roll for initiative,
Jamie Wahl