Talking Race, Part I

I’ve started this piece about a dozen times in a dozen different ways, but have come to the conclusion that 500 words are not enough to make my point without coming across as some kind of Neanderthal. So instead, I’ll break it into pieces and start with a story I’ve told countless times, just to point out why it’s been so difficult.

It’s a little slice-of-life tale I tell whenever I want to demonstrate how unprepared I was for Houston’s heat, humidity and traffic when I moved there in 1983. If you’ve been there, you know that “ninety-five” refers to both the temperature and the humidity. You also know it’s not unusual to wait three or four cycles through a traffic signal to get through an intersection. So coming home from work one day, while sweating though the third red light in my non-air conditioned, Michigan-plated Toyota, I hear someone shout, “I see you didn’t know what to expect either!” I look over and see this big guy in the same boat as me – tiny, blue, non-air conditioned, Illinois-plated Plymouth Horizon, sweating in his white shirt and tie. We two displaced Northerners just looked at each other and laughed at the joke fate had played on us.

But there’s one detail I’ve left out that I’ve often struggled with - whether I should point out that the other driver was black. I always mention the color of his car and the color of his shirt. Why not the color of his skin? Mentioning his skin color isn’t an editorial, it’s just a fact, just one more detail to help paint the scene. Would I hesitate to say it was a freckle-faced kid, a big farm boy, an attractive blonde? Probably not.

But I hesitate to point out skin color for fear of appearing too aware, too concerned about such a detail in a racially sensitive world. Perhaps I’m afraid of sounding as though I felt his skin color mattered. But the truth is I feel I should be able to mention it precisely because it doesn’t matter.

Which is why I found the column I intended to write so difficult. I want to talk about race relations in America, but how to do so openly and honestly when I’m afraid to mention race under even the most innocuous of circumstances. And how can we, as a nation, have the dialog so many say we need to have when we’re afraid to ruffle feathers in the slightest, or when feathers are ruffled so easily?

Well, we’ve got to start. And people of goodwill on all sides must be willing to share thoughts, hopes, fears and concerns without fear of reprisal. Perhaps if we understand that the dialog is undertaken with good intentions, we can get somewhere. Of course, we know where the road paved with good intentions often leads. So be it. I’m ready to take my first tentative steps.