When I was young I was a fast worker. Now that I’m a septuagenarian
I clean at a turtle’s pace. Finally, my bedroom has been deep cleaned but it
took me five days. I used a mop to wash the walls so I didn’t have to get on a
ladder and for the first time in my life I skipped doing the ceiling. But the
blinds and windows are clean, the mattresses were flipped, the bed skirts have
been washed and ironed, the furniture was polished and all the wall hangings are
sparkling clean. The carpeting will wait until spring when I hire a professional
to do the whole house. I changed my bedroom color scheme along with the deep
cleaning project. The red sheets are gone and the red fabric that was framed to
form a sort of headboard was swapped out to what you see in the photo above and
I have enough fabric left over to make a decorative throw pillow. For under
fifty bucks the room has a whole different energy. This is the room’s third
reincarnation using framed fabric and new bedding which is one of the reasons why I
love having neutral colored carpeting and walls.
After I got a haircut Monday I went to the Guy Land Cafeteria,
one of my favorite people watching places. But the most interesting thing that
happened was two black guys came in and not for the first time I wondered what it
feels like to be black in a sea of white people. I’ve been going to this place
for years and this is the first time I’ve ever seen a black person there, which
tells you a lot about my white-bread neighborhood. They were wearing sweatshirts
with ‘UChicago Tech’ written on the fronts which reminded me of a bus trip I
took to The Windy City. It was in the spring of 1963 and we were a bunch of
college students on our way to the museums.
There was a detour in the city that took our bus through a ghetto
complete with the driver’s mocking voice coming over the intercom describing
what we were seeing, a dilapidated area with black people sitting on porches
and kids looking with interest at our shiny motor coach bus with its tinted windows---at least I hope they were tinted back then. I'd hate to think those people outside the bus saw us all staring at them. It was
the first time I’d seen severe poverty up close. A few days after we got back
home images of the police in Birmingham, Alabama using high-powered fire hoses
and police dogs on black students, who had gathered to do a peaceful walk,
dominated the nightly news. "They Fight a Fire That Won't Go Out" was
the caption used on a photograph that appeared in Life Magazine of what happened that day---a day the world, including mine, woke up and started paying attention to the Civil Rights
Movement. Over the years when I remember that bus trip I'm still stuck by how dehumanizing
it was for the bus driver to treat that ghetto the way he did, like it was just another “tourist sight”
along the way.
I thought about that tour recently when it was time to
decide if I wanted to sign up for a senior hall tour, or not, of the oldest black
church in town followed by a tour of a Buddhist Temple. I’ve wanted to go to
the Buddhist Temple since I first learned about it ten years ago, so I put in my reservation although I’m slightly concerned that I’ll feel like we’re a bunch of white tourists
when we visit the black church---like it’s an upgraded version of that trip in
the ‘60s. This church tour is part of a monthly series billed as “How We
Worship” and they include a talk by the church leaders so I’m sure my apprehension
is for nothing. It’s not like they don’t know we’re coming or have no control
over our visit.
Race is such a hot button topic in recent years…well for some
people. Maybe my naivety or flaming liberal nature will show up here when I say
this but I don’t get how some whites can feel that being born white makes them
better. It’s a crap shoot being born white or black. It’s a crap shoot being
born into poverty or plenty. It’s a crap shoot if we get supportive, loving parents
or those who aren’t. How can a person feel superior about something they had no
control over and didn’t work to achieve? Opportunities matter and without a
doubt just being born white before the Civil Rights Movement gave us more opportunities. Those opportunities compared to
starting a 26 mile marathon at the 13 mile marker and wondering why the black
kids, who started at the first mile marker, didn’t finish in the same time
frame.
Two black guys walked into a cafeteria on Monday and they
ordered their food to go. Maybe they were traveling and didn’t have the time to
sit down and eat, or maybe they wanted to talk shop while eating in private. I hope one of these two things is true
because I’d be sad if they didn’t feel comfortable enough to eat their lunch inside. I
looked around at my fellow diners and I didn’t feel an undercurrent going on. I
listened to the cashier interact with the guys and noted no changes in her
tone or demeanor. Still, the fact that their presence in my white-bread neighborhood was
so unusual could be used as an example of how far true equality still has to go. ©
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| Levi on his side of the bed. He thinks it's cool he matches the decor`. |
