Still alive and kicking

Spent a chunk of time today trying to find a part for my daughter's truck so it could pass inspection. Small hassle but time consuming. Driving across town during what passes for rush hour here and then finding out I'll have to do it all over again tomorrow as a part must be shipped from KC or somewhere.

In this endeavor I went to a small garage I pass almost every day. I guess since my dad spent the bulk of his life working in a small garage, I have a soft spot for them. But you never know what you will find in terms of people and quality of work etc.

But being in a hurry today I stopped at this small grimy place. I went into the office - if you can call it that - where two grizzled and grey old men were sitting. One had a pretty sizeable grey beard and the other just looked like he had lost his razor a week or so ago. Neither one seemed to perk up much when I walked in so I wasn't sure if they were waiting on something, workers there or what. After a bit the unshaven one spoke and asked if he could help. I told him and he said (NOTE: this is a quote and not my own comment or words): "Go out there and see the 'colored' man, he'll take care of you." I turned and walked out of the room before it sunk in what he had said. Now I grew up in the south during the 50s and this type of talk would have seemed tame and acceptable to about 100% of the populace back then. But I'll bet I haven't heard anyone use that word or descriptor in decades.

I probably should have walked out and left but I continued into the shop where at first, I didn't think anyone was there. But back in a corner where a small old TV played some unknown cartoon, stood an African-American man. For the next few minutes I went about my business with him and then when he needed some help, he called for the unshaven guy in the "office". I wasn't sure what to expect but somehow didn't expect him to respond favorably. But the two talked as if nothing was wrong, nothing bad had been said etc.

It took me back again to my childhood and my dad again in the shop where he worked. He worked side-by-side with Martin. Martin was an African-American painter who finished up the body-work done by my father. They probably worked together for 20+ years if not longer. But in that time my dad never referred to him as anything but Martin - Martin being his last name. Arthur was his first and I never heard anyone call him that. I do believe my dad thought of Martin as his equal in every way but skin color. They ate lunches together, talked all the time. But I never recall them doing anything socially together while my dad did do things with his boss Joe, who was white.

Away from work and the shop and Martin, I know I heard my dad use the "n" word more than once. The "c" word was used even more frequently. I don't know exactly what my dad thought when he spoke this way. I think his upbringing in the south in the 20s and 30s just ingrained this language as normal - not necessarily racist or even condescending.

I can only surmise that the man I met today, was of similar upbringing but maybe not. I don't know. But the simple fact of his language told me that we are still a long way from the end of racism as we know it. And I'm sure African-Americans in our very white city could tell me story after story about similar and even more hurtful language that I guess they choose to ignore.