I Can't Put Myself in the Shoes of My Black and Brown Friends

This morning, as we do most Saturday mornings, Chris and I walked up to the farmer's market. As we approached the entrance Chris said, "I don't have my mask." Me, "Are you kidding me?" (I really thought he was because last time we walked up here neither of us brought our wallets...) Alas, he was not.

Fear not! Caroline was a block away getting an oil change (a whole other story which I'll post on Growing Up Doyle). I called her SURE she would have an extra in the car and we could scoot over and get it. Dadgumit, my problem-solving effort was foiled! Chris looked up and said, "Maybe the Dollar General will have masks or at least a bandana." I hate when he's the better problem-solver, but I also didn't want to walk around the farmer's market by myself. So I donned my mask, took his wallet (at least there was that), and went in search.

It was a quick find, and I lined up to check-out. I could see Chris standing under the trees in the parking lot. Apparently, others could too.

A customer three in front of me exited into the parking lot. She and Chris began to have a conversation. He walked closer to her but still kept the appropriate distance. Suddenly I heard the cashier call for security. "There's a man in the parking lot who looks like he's harassing people." I looked back out the window wondering what was going on. It quickly dawned on me--they meant Chris!!

"M'am," I said, "That's my husband. He's just waiting on me to buy these bandanas so we can go to the farmer's market." I was laughing hysterically as I said it. My husband is the kindest, most gentle person in the world. I couldn't wait to text the children and tell them someone thought he was a threat. It was a big joke to me--until it wasn't.

The cashier immediately apologized to me and canceled the security call. "Sometimes we get crazy people out there," she explained. "Oh I'm sure," I answered not wanting her to feel uncomfortable, "I think it's good you're paying attention." I checked out and came outside still laughing. I relayed the story to Chris. "I was just talking to her about homegrown tomatoes," he responded, "Look there she is going to the farmer's market. We're buddies." (FYI-Chris thinks everyone is his buddy--and he's probably right. See above.) We both laughed some more, and then I said, "I bet this is what happens to African Americans all the time." We stopped laughing. "You're right," Chris agreed. Suddenly it didn't seem quite so funny--or funny at all.

I can't stop thinking about it. I wonder if Chris had been African American if they would have so quickly canceled security? I wonder if I was African American instead of a white woman wearing pearls, a fashionable (at least I think so) hat, and a Kentucky Colonels mask, if they would have believed me and canceled security? But mostly I think this. I said to myself, "For a brief moment I understood what it felt like to be an African American minding his/her own business and others thinking you were up to no good." Except I didn't.

Is he less scary like this?

I thought I could use it as an example of how I now understood. I was already thinking about how to work it into my sermon tomorrow. But see I don't really understand because ultimately, it was a joke for us or at least for me. (I try not to speak for Chris.) I thought it would make a funny post, a funny story. I imagined calling the children and all of us laughing at the UNUSUAL assumption made about Chris.

I think about my friends who are African American and how they would have responded. It wouldn't be a funny post; it would be yet another example to add to the thousands of examples of when they had been misidentified, questioned, and made to feel less than. There would be absolutely nothing funny about it. I wonder what would have happened if security had gone out there and how it might be different.

I learned something very important today, and it wasn't that for a brief moment I could put myself in the shoes of black and brown people. I learned I can never do that. But that doesn't mean I can't do something. That doesn't mean I can't recognize the injustice, the difference in treatment, and the different lenses I have had the privilege of using all of my life.

It taught me, I can walk alongside, but I can never truly put on the shoes of a black or brown person, I can only try to help to make sure their shoes are used for progress, for moving forward, for equity, and not for running from injustice they don't deserve.