Moving Out

John sat in the back of his grandson’s college American History class. The professor had assigned the students to talk to family members and ask if any of them had memories of “the struggle for racial equality.” And, if they did, would they please volunteer to speak to the class next week, the 50th anniversary of the 1963 civil rights “March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom” and Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech. John waited patiently while the professor took attendance and handed back grades. Students kept glancing back at him — the paunchy old man wedged into an extra writing desk.

So, here he was now — a white guy about to pontificate on an old black issue. “No.” John thought, “Things may have gotten better overall, but for some, the problem is still an open wound. Even where it has scabbed-over, the injury is unhealed and easily reopened. And, it’s not just ‘an old black issue;’ but a corruption that still eats at the minds and hearts of too many people still walking around while wearing a cloak of false respectability.” John scribbled another thought in the margin of his notes just as he was invited to the front of the class. He began: