I was in NYC recently with my daughter approaching a breakfast buffet at our hotel, and my eyes spotted a man with biceps the size of Rhode Island and New Hampshire, respectively. He was covered in tattoos, and his skin was black. Big and scary. I looked mean too, I thought.
Wanting to protect my seven year old daughter, I sized him up as someone to steer clear of. That pre-judging (pre-judice) was instant, no hesitation or self-examination.
But as fate would have it he wound up behind us in the buffet line, and I had a choice to either stay separate and uncomfortable or try something out of my comfort zone.
It seemed that the biggest muscle in this young man’s body was his heart.
|
Being around my daughter sometimes inspires me to try new things, to choose adventure over the status quo. I turned around and smiled, asking: “So how many hours a week do you work out? He broke out into his own friendly smile. “Four to six hours, seven days a week. The gym is my second home”, he said.
His eyes sparkled with pride, and I could see a boyish exuberance peering out through his macho frame.
Suddenly I was curious, he was harmless, and I battered him with questions, friendly firing away while he piled on the protein for breakfast.
It turned out that he was in New York for some kind of body building contest. I asked him what his hopes and goals were and he got even more enthusiastic. “If I win here I get to go to Vegas and compete in the nationals.” “And then what?” I asked. “The prize for that one is ten thousand dollars.” “And then what?” I kept asking.
Loving the attention, he shared his bigger dreams of helping out his family financially, moving more of his kin to the United States, and starting a foundation for underprivileged kids.
It seemed that the biggest muscle in this young man’s body was his heart.
Every day there are moments available like the conversation I had with the big, beautiful black man, moments when we make the decision to be the change we wish to see in the world.
|
And to think, I almost didn’t strike up a conversation. I was so close to business as usual, letting fear stifle my curiosity, building walls instead of bridges. So glad I chose differently. So glad my daughter was there, looking over my shoulder, taking it all in.
These last few months a horrific number of innocent people, policeman and civilians, got shot and killed because of fear. Call it racism, prejudice, hate, ignorance, mental illness, apathy, whatever the labels, it’s all different variations and flavors of the same stuff: Fear.
It’s very tempting to feel powerless about it all.
But I like to think that every day I make a multitude of little decisions that contribute either to more prejudice on this planet, or to it’s eventual demise. Every moment. Always a choice. Never powerless.
Either we’re helping Donald Trump build walls, or we are choosing something else.
Every day there are moments available like the conversation I had with the big, beautiful black man, moments when we make the decision to be the change we wish to see in the world.
The children, whether any are biologically yours or not, are looking over your shoulder, waiting to see what your choice is. We are all creating their future.
—
Photo: Getty Images
Never had this experience because I’ve had black friends all my life.
One thing that I don’t think that is well understood is that black men have great senses of humor, at least the many that I’ve known. In conversation they universally are pleasant and easy going.
Perhaps that is the type of stereotype we should be acquiescing, or the reality we should begin to understand. Familiarity will bring that truth to light.
Excellent article. It would be nice if more White people would stop viewing Black people as “monsters” “deviants” or “freaks of nature” who are not fully human.
Beautiful! Great way to start my day.