When I was growing up, my parents never shied away from teaching my twin brother and I about how the world worked and how we ought to be very careful in a society that wasn’t too keen on young boys who looked like us. However, in my short lifetime the world has been flipped upside down and what we used to look at as something not of the norm, is now commonplace in almost every city in the country. That normality is called “acceptance,” and it’s spreading like wildfire. Issues that were taboo in the 80’s and 90’s have turned into civil rights battles for freedom, love, and liberties. Like before, with any change comes resistance. The old white man’s burden begins.
Unless you live under a rock, it’s hard not to notice the major changes happening around the world. The United States of America not only elected it’s first African American president this decade, but also shed light on Gay rights as a major issue and even look to elect their first woman president in 2016. With all of this change going on, the old white man, with his arrogance and superiority complex, finds himself surrounded by a world totally different from the one he grew up in, but even he is starting to see the light.
Over the past weekend I took a mini vacation to Washington D.C. to clear my mind of the stress I’m sure we all go through. Before I left the hotel, I made a conscious decision to take a taxi cab. I wanted to enjoy my night, so driving seemed out of the question since alcohol was going to be my best friend on the dance floor. I had heard all the stories about how taxi’s don’t stop for young black men from my father, so I was slightly hesitant when I stuck my hand in the air to hail a cab. I even let the beautiful young woman who accompanied me to stand a little ahead of me as we both flagged down the cabbie. I was shocked when a nearly 80 year old white man pulled up, unlocked the door and asked us where we wanted to go. He was a partially bald old man, with a few strands of grey poking from his old baseball cap. His voice was raspy, but that didn’t stop him from starting conversation. Unlike the cab I took the night before, the old man turned around to get us to our destination faster, and I appreciated that. That’s when the convo got interesting.
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He told us he was born and raised in D.C. and that D.C. was nothing like it was when he was growing up. Since he’s been around for almost a century I was curious to know what he knew, so I asked him what was the biggest change he saw in D.C. over his lifetime. He immediately started talking about race. He told us about his segregated schools, he told us about his segregated church, he talked about whites only bathrooms, and colored only dinners. He even told us about his racist childhood friends, who used to call the local black kids names. Why did he feel the need to tell us these things? I wondered. I didn’t ask him anything about race, nor did I infer I wanted to learn about the race relations in D.C. What was the meaning of this old white man talking to me about race, when I never asked him to. Then it hit me; this was his opportunity to make amends for the horrible things he’s done or saw and never spoke up about. It was as if he was trying to lift himself of the burden of an ever-changing world. The language he used might have been offensive to some black people, but I was intrigued by his candor. He told the truth. No, he wasn’t proclaiming to be a saint, but he told the truth. He acknowledged the changes in race relations from when he was a child, and he seemed to be trying to “accept” it. I realized this was an important moment for him, and I know it wasn’t easy for him to do so with a complete stranger.
When you give someone the benefit of the doubt, many times they surprise you. I could have assumed this old white man wasn’t gonna stop to pick us up, but he did. I could have assumed he was an old white man burdened by change, never looking to accept an evolving society, but he wasn’t. He could have expected me to snap and leave him with a lousy tip, but I didn’t. I respected him for his honest words and I tipped him $16 bucks for a $10 dollar cab ride. Keep the change.
words by: @Blogzworth
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