I am not color blind

            I have never been colorblind. When you grow up in a community where there are only white people you tend to notice when someone isn’t white. No exaggeration. There were no bodies other than white bodies! Saying that you are colorblind when you’re really not is kinda cute, kinda silly, kinda self-serving. I learned about black people from, well, black people. I didn’t read an article or see it on the news. I actually met, talked to, and became friends. Here is some of that story.

            

          The first black person that I remember meeting was Arthur Tyson Jr. (Tookie). We went to high school together and were on the same basketball team. I would say we played on the same team but I didn’t play much. We also had Spanish together. We weren’t really friends because we didn’t really know each other but he was always kind and funny. I ended up not liking him much now that we’re adults. Not because he’s black but because he’s a Steelers fan. We are both older now, and he’s still a Steelers fan but I love him more just because of how he treated me. We have actually talked more as adults than when we were both teenagers.

             

            I remember being taught not to say “colored” people. It was by a black woman I worked with. Her name was Neda Williams. Crazy, sweet, mean, loud, fun, no-fun, funny. All these were accurate to describing Neda. She was having a conversation with a guy about race and color and he said something about colored people. Neda’s response was classic Neda and I will never forget it.

“Boy, what you mean, colored? I’m black. There’s no color here. You were a shade of red when you were born. You turn pink when you go out into the sun and eventually become a darker shade of white or lighter shade of brown! And you callin me colored? Boy, what’s wrong with you?”

Classic! And true. So from that day forward I understood that there was black people and white people. Seemed simple enough.

            Then came JR. We met while working at the same factory. Played basketball together. Just to keep this a readable length, he became my best friend. He took me to some very black places to play basketball and I took him to some very white places to play basketball. He made fun of me regularly for being white and I returned the favor because he was black. I learned as much about people from him (not just black people) than most others. We know each other’s family. We ate in each other’s homes together. We even traveled together. We fought together! No, really, literally, we fought together. He was bigger than me but I had a bigger mouth. So most of the time, no, all of time, I would get us into arguments and then when I knew he was close enough to save me, I would throw the first punch, or ball. Then he would come and not many people wanted to fight with him. I guess he was kind of like Jesus. He saved! That’s funny no matter what color you are!

But there was so much more. We went to lunch together almost every day. We spent so much time together that I remember coming back from lunch one day to clock back in and someone had taken my timecard and written “nigger lover” across the front of it. The next day we went to lunch I asked him about race for the first time. He shared a few stories and I listened. I don’t remember saying much. It was new to me so I was just trying to learn. I knew we were different races but it didn’t matter to me or him. As terrible as that was that someone would write that, I think it made us closer. I was furious at whichever coward did it and I was hurt for my friend.

One of my favorite JR stories was at my house. My daughter, Kelcey, was maybe 2 or 3 years old and she was playing with JR in the living room while Tammy fixed dinner. I was watching Kelcey run up to where he was sitting and JR would grab her wrist and hold her for just a second then let her go and she would run down the hall squealing with joy as she ran. This went on and on and then one time this happened. He grabs her wrists and she tries to pull away and suddenly the laughter stopped. She holds her little arms up and stares at her wrists. Then she grabbed JR’s hand and looks intently at it then back at her wrists a few more times. JR laughed and said, “What’s wrong with you, it don’t rub off!” and rubbed his hand on my arm. With that, Kelcey ran down the hall laughing and it continued till the food was ready. We sat down, prayed together, and enjoyed our food.

He was so good to me and my family. He loved (hopefully still does) us and we love him. Race was a part of our relationship but so were our cars, our jump-shot, our jobs, our kids, and so many other things. I didn’t think it divided us. I thought it was just another aspect of loving each other.

Through the years, I have met and loved people of all races. I have also met and not liked people of all races. Race is just one aspect of a person. I don’t ignore it. Think about this, if everyone that you know drives a sports car and you meet someone that drives a truck are you going to ignore the truck? Of course not. You’re going to talk about the truck. And if you dislike the person because they drive a truck, then you’re a moron. And if they dislike you because you drive a car then they’re a moron.

Here are some things that I have learned from JR in particular:

·         There is black. And then there is JR black. Africans have lighter skin than he does.  

·         It’s perfectly acceptable to point out that a mixed race baby is a caramel baby.

·         Black people can get sunburns and peel. This was one of the funniest days that JR and I had together because he was so mad that I had him out all weekend and he got a sunburn. “I’m peeling! We’re not supposed to peel!”

·         Water is a no-go for my black friend. So is softball!

·         Not all black men can jump. Or dance!

·         His mother and father always treated me like one of the family

·         He was the most loyal friend that I had ever had to that point in my life

·         He probably was given a hard time because he was my friend. So was I. It didn’t matter.

·         If he was a millionaire he would still tell you he was poor.

·         He loves motorcycles. And boy can he ride them. Of course he’s old, like me, now and may not have the courage he once did!

·         He loved his daughter.

·         The black T-bird was a staple!

·         He’s a friend.

·         I miss him! He’s an awesome person.

Some people might be offended by this. I’m not sure why unless you’ve been told to be. If we could stop being offended there is so much joy in celebrating differences. Many years ago I walked into a local gas station and saw a black man with a shaved head and about 5 ft 11 inches tall. My 3 year old son, Jordan, looked up at him without hesitation and asked, “Are you Michael Jordan?” He wasn’t offended. He didn’t ignore or say something ugly. He high-fived my son and said, “Boy I wish!” and offered to buy him an ice cream! Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe it’s too late. But, man, are we missing out!

            

Jesus said to love our neighbor as our self! Simple enough. Or at least it should be.

Have a great week and may it be filled with people. Of all colors,

Pastor Dad

Oh, by the way. He’s still perfect isn’t he?