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:
