Some Things Remain the Same

The struggle for equality marks the American landscape like snowflakes. Immigrants come to these shores to partake of the American Dream and yet people, a people that arrived on these shores unwillingly, still strive for equality. Oh, yes, over the years laws have been passed to ensure the equality of a people, laws that were supposed to erase the years of degradation and shame that hung around the shoulders of an enshackled race, a race that some said were even scorned by God. Martin Luther King Jr. gave his life for the dream and yet the dream for many still remains unfulfilled.

Racism occurs in small ways everyday in the lives of minorities. Most non-minorities prefer not to acknowledge or accept the fact that the existence of racism still permeates the landscape throughout America, unless the effects are blatant and violent. So, mindful of the fact that this is just a common occurrence, remember that thoughts, words, and actions can sometimes yield terrible scars.

Today was a day like most other days, except I had to go to an appointment to voluntarily have my ta's (breasts for the uninitiated) squeezed and for all intense and purposes, flattened, a precaution most women over fifty have been told will help combat or avoid breast cancer. Truthfully, I have begun to wonder if the annual exam, a task I liken to torture, will in fact convince my mammary glands to produce the dread disease just to punish me for their annual violation. But enough of my private conversation with my ta's, the subject of a later book to be penned about the "Secret Lives Of Ta's."

My o'gram appointment took place at a well appointed radiology office near my home. The office decor resembled the taste of someone who had spent a lot of time in corporate board rooms or upscale law offices. The office waiting room offered about twenty of the traditional high-backed red leather chairs with their emblematic embossed gold studs which complimented the hunter green berber carpet. The sitting room was rounded out by mahogany wood side tables, each filled with magazines that exalted the rich and famous or fortune 500 companies.

A young white man, probably in his early twenties, struggled to assist his aging grandmother, or possibly his great grandmother, with the required paperwork chronically her health history. As they struggled collectively, a middle-aged black woman with a flourish of pure white hair entered the office. The African American woman was the only representative of her race in the office at the time. The office staff appeared to be entirely white, and female. The woman was well-dressed and obviously at ease in the environment. She made eye contact with the desk receptionist, signed in and she sat down near the young man and his grand mother. After glancing around briefly, she picked up a magazine and began to read.

The older white female and her grandson had apparently completed the paper work and the ancient woman attempted to feebly rise to her feet. Her grandson provided the necessary push to her backside and as she gained an upright stance, she began her trek to the front desk. I'm certain most of this woman's life took place in slow motion because it took her a while to orient herself to her surroundings. Once she was securely on her feet her gaze fell directly on the African American woman. Her forward motion was stopped, almost as if she were compelled to stop directly in front of the woman. Once assured of her keen powers of observation, she turned slightly and spoke to her grandson over her shoulder and stated quite clearly without hesitation, "Watch my purse!" This statement, full of the racists assumption that all blacks steal, lie, and cheat somehow satisfied her and she resumed her feeble short journey to the front desk receptionist to complete her sign-in. The African American woman maintained her regal poise. There was not even a single twitch on the fine planes of her coffee-colored, firm, unwrinkled skin, that would have symbolized that she had allowed the insult to demean her personhood. I guess that over the course of her lifetime that she learned how to ignore ignorance and top go on with her pursuits in life. The young grandson flushed scarlet at his grandmother's crudeness and insensitivity.

I can't help but to wonder how long it will take for old white women to stop clutching at their purses in public when a black person, regardless of age, gender, and stature, enters their environment? When will Dr. King's dream of all men "being judged by the content of their character rather than the color of their skin," really begin to become a part of the American landscape?