A Small Incident

Three weeks ago, my husband and I walked over to a friend’s house a couple blocks away. We were sitting in their back yard, sipping our drinks and chatting when a young man – maybe in his 20’s, strutted into the yard and started talking to us. He wasn’t making much sense, but kept repeating “I’m European! Can you believe that?” He didn’t answer any of our questions or comments. He just danced back and forth to the table, finally grabbing my husband’s beer. “Don’t drink that! Covid!” I cried. But, he replied, “We are all in heaven right now.”

Which on a blisteringly hot day in Minneapolis, might not be considered heaven, but there is reason to argue that point. I could go along with the ‘heaven’ comment if he hadn’t just grabbed my husband’s drink. Our host asked him to leave the yard since we were on private property, then his wife got up and went around to the front of the house. We tried to get a conversation going with him, but the young man just kept dancing around the yard, kind of like he was taunting us.

I pulled out my phone and began dialing 911. Then he grabbed it. There was a small struggle as I attempted to keep it. But he was standing, was younger and quicker. At that point I got up and asked for my phone back. We verbally spared for a few minutes and I followed this guy out of the yard, across the alley, through someone else’s yard, (where he grabbed a shovel) and up the sidewalk of the next block. My  husband followed me.  All the while, like a bleating sheep, I kept repeating “Please give my phone back. I want my phone back.”  He was not running, just dancing along—keeping about ½ block ahead.

We journeyed through a couple more yards, in and out of a fenced in area with barking dogs. – the owner let me and then my husband pass through and pointed in the direction my phone stealer had gone.  When we got to the sidewalk on the next block, the thief still dancing ahead of us; me still calling for my phone; my husband still trying to keep up, I found we had a fourth member in our parade, our host’s neighbor who was pursuing sans shoes.

As we continued up Steven’s Avenue toward 50^th street, a person on a motorized skate board came by and asked what was going on. I told him the guy up the block had stolen my phone and I just wanted it back. So, he rode ahead. When we got to top of the hill they had gone into another driveway and residential yard. The motorized skateboarder had jumped a pile of dirt and accidentally run into the thief, who had dropped my phone and ran through the yard to another street. The owner of the home had picked up my phone and returned it to me.  His daughter made sure I knew her dad was the man who got my phone.

The phone’s case was broken off and in several pieces. There were pressure cracks on the corners, but otherwise it was intact. I thanked the two men profusely. Then my husband, the bare-footed neighbor and I walked back down the hill. The skateboarder, who went with us, grumbled and complained the whole way down the hill because as he had gone over a pile of dirt and subsequently fallen down, he had broken the handle of his brand-new toy. His motorized skate board had cost him $500. His repeated laments made me think he wanted a reward.

I didn’t think that I was $500 worth of grateful, even though I was, and still am very grateful for getting my phone returned. I turned it off for several days, just in case the thief had gotten any information.

But, let me get back to the incident.

What I keep coming back to is how quick we were to call 911. I think we have this idea (most of us anyway) that our neighborhood is safe. My husband and I take daily walks and see only a few people. Oh, we see dog-walkers who wave & smile and who sometimes let us pet their dog. We see neighbors—and we know everyone on our block and many on the adjoining blocks. We see joggers and bikers, but many times we walk several blocks without seeing anyone. We feel safe and secure.  People do get mugged occasionally, but that is not the norm. We see homeless people and lots of people we do not know, but many people who frequent the neighborhood are familiar to us, even if we don’t speak with them.

So, this man walking into the back yard was out of our norm.  None of us recognized him as anyone we knew or even anyone we had seen around the neighborhood. So, one rationalization for calling 911 was the man’s erratic behavior had offended our sense of security.  We are law-abiding citizens and our instinctive move is to call the police when we feel less than secure. Additionally, we were deep in conversation, so shifting  gears to hear, understand and capture the intent of this interloper—well, we were too slow to grasp.

Now, does the story change for you if I tell you the man was black? Why would that matter to the tale? How might the color of his skin have changed our behavior?  I believe we would have called the police if a white guy came into the yard talking nonsense while grabbing drinks and phones. And yes, we live in a predominantly white area of the city, but we see, know and live near people of many ethnic backgrounds, so a black man walking into the yard is not a novelty.

But, again I return to the scene. He said several times, “Hey, I’m European. can you believe that?” And I wish I had been cognizant enough to go there with him. I might have asked, “Where in Europe does your family come from?”  or I might have said, “Yes, of course I can believe that.” Perhaps if we had more quickly gotten over the surprise of a stranger coming into our private space and beginning a discussion without even introducing himself, we might have invited him to sit down and discuss with us all that we had been talking about.

Part of me thinks he was too inebriated to move from his formulated thought. And another part of me wants to give him the chance to talk about race without having to steal something to get our attention.   

The cynical part of me thinks he might be a gang initiate who was supposed to go mess with some white people’s minds or steal a phone somewhere.

Yet, I think he was well dressed: newer clothes, casual, clean and in good repair. So, his attire makes me assume he was not a homeless person.   I would have had a completely different vibe if he had been scruffy or his pants had hung below his butt crack.  So, I’m saying the way we dress and how we act makes an impact on if we are taken seriously or not. I was ready to take this guy seriously as he walked into the yard.  I am not so sure his skin color worried me. I was not afraid of the young man, only surprised, then alarmed that he took my phone. I wondered if a different reaction from us, might have resulted in a different outcome.

I don’t think he came away with a different idea of who a white person is, or how a white person acts. His actions and our response, helped perpetuate the myth that all white people fear blacks, so must call the police when confronted by a black youth.

It must be so confusing for young people now, especially youth of color—any color. We are getting so many conflicting messages about each other. Social media throws myths, prevarications, misinformation, and propaganda around so much, it’s unclear who is speaking truth and who is promoting their own hateful lies. 

I agree Black Lives Matter. But let us not demonize the whole not-black population while we try to ‘level the playing field’.  If that young man had given us a chance to talk about race, I believe we would have risen to the occasion.

I want all of us to hear: we are all unique individuals. And, we are all the same. Let us come together as a human race of unique individuals who are willing to learn and understand each other as we live in this same world.  Let us survive together instead of tearing each other apart.

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The other day, I overheard on the radio “As a black man, I …..” And I realized that I never say, “As a white woman, I … “ I was not raised to notice, think about, or identify with the color of my skin. Oh, yes, we all wanted a golden tan as infatuated adolescents. Everyone wanted to be blonde, slim and blue eyed, perhaps.  I didn’t mind having brown eyes and brown hair. Okay, it’s auburn, but still, those physical traits didn’t affect my coming and my going. I was raised as a person, a Christian, a female, not as a Caucasian.  Considering your skin color with each and every thing you do, (to me) is like considering your religion. 

What Would Jesus Do?

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We are asked to not pay attention to skin color. Then we are told: don’t overlook people of color. So, which is it? I notice people’s skin color as I notice their eye color and hair color. Yet, I really do try to react to people on the merits of their behavior. If a person wants to talk about physical traits, I can go there. But, if we are attempting to move beyond petty judgements about looks, then we need to move beyond petty judgements about looks. For some people, it doesn’t matter what you say to them, they will take offense.

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It is a hard fact the there are people in this world who hate people who come from different countries, different religions, different skin tones. Our world has its share of bullies, who by the way, come in all skin colors.  I am deeply sorry for the hate and the antagonistic actions of so many in our population these days.

There were evil doers in times past. Hate is not new. How we react to hate and haters can be different, than past reactions. I wonder and I hope we can help each other get along. Let’s just settle down a little and see the love around us.

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In the early 1990’s I attended a seminar for child care workers. It had been widely advertised and was a free event. Child care for attendee’s children was offered. The neighborhood around the Center where the seminar was to take place had been papered with flyers. The child care social workers had notified all the women who were licensed and many who were interested in the child care  profession.  We were honored to have the director of the building address us to open the session and we were happy with the 60-75 people, mostly women, who arrived.

The director got up to the podium, looked around and said . . . Well, I wrote it in a poem, so here it is:

Oh man, don’t give me your poor-black-folk-angst, lookin’ at me like white ain’t a color

Mr. Director swaggered into the room

to address the assembled women:

“You all lookin’ pretty white up in here.” he says,

and “I’m wondering where’s all my black

sisters’ at.” He says.

and “When will the establishment

recognize black workers, too.” He says.

and “It’s about time we level the playin’ field

so’s everyone can participate.” He says.

-like being white is a bad thing

-like there are only white folk up in here

-like those Latinas and high-yellow ladies are too white for him to count

-like all Asians look white to him

-like we didn’t paper this city with invitations

-like this conference didn’t offer free childcare, free registration, free lunch

-like someone was holding certain folks back from attendin’

-like those folks who show up to the workshop are at fault for holding others down

-like we in the audience are takin’ space from someone whose color is darker than ours

-like he’s blind to the new immigrant population from Somoli sitting in the third row

Damn, Ain’t life a bitch if youse black.

Now we just gotta’ figure out who he’s talkin’ about

and we just gotta’ tell him who he’s talkin’ to.

Lots of folks feel that all white people are racist. But I think I’ve seen some racist people who are not white.

Social media posts scapegoat all white folk, like we are all ‘the man’ without realizing that many white people have struggled as much as people of other colors. Yes. We have. My father worked as a gold miner, as a farmer, as a semi-truck driver. Hard work for a man who tried very hard to keep food on the table for his wife and eight kids. We learned to do without, to persist and to work hard.  I visited my cousin in South Dakota who lived in a trailer without running water or electricity. She has since moved, but I think her situation was as dismal as anything others have experienced.

Again, I go back to the event to note that I cannot know that young man’s motive nor his experience unless he tells me. And he cannot know the life I have lived unless he talks to me. That’s true for all of us. When I was growing up poor like all my relatives and neighbors, we hated ‘the man’, the ‘rich bitches’ just like poor people do today. How has the plight of the poor changed? When we see only through our own eyes, we miss the richness of the world and its many points of light coming from all others.

Please comment if you’d like to. I’m open to new ideas and perspectives. I do seek to be enlightened. But, I ask you to comment without hate.