Had a strange moment today when I was in line at Trader Joes with an old white man with a Make America Great Again face mask and his younger, purchased(?), asian wife. Now this could have been Pragma, that enduring love built over time. I’d love to be able to believe I live in that world. Instead I expect I live in a world where racist old men longing for a time that no longer exists are picking out brides who want a fast way into the country and getting extremely worked up over people who aren’t willing to sleep with them trying to get into that same country.
I am struggling with understanding who I am in this world. I am a black man with a multi-racial family who lives, primarily, in a very white social structure. If there was a black card I’d argue that I’ve lost mine some time ago. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I feel deeply secure in my personal identity but far less secure in what is commonly referred to as ‘street cred’
I don’t know that any of it actually matters, to be honest. It was a thought that prickled my brain as I was watching that scene unfold. It has prickled my brain a few times recently when I think about black writers and how their characters are primarily black and my are primarily not.
I don’t know what any of this means or how I feel about it. I know that it was a thought and, on occasion, is a thought and I wonder why that is.