Understanding and Tone

I don’t like to write about things that I feel I lack the understanding of.

I’d never write about the building of “the fence” or is it a wall?

Or on the subject of how the Democrats and Republicans differ and why one is more right than wrong.

Political discussions don’t ever hear from me, I’m uninformed, would need a middle school refresher on the different houses and representatives.

I apologize. I just don’t remember.

I just don’t know.

But, I do know that some things should be different by now, that there should not be hatred and discounting of another because of tones of skin color.

Today, I was piddling around, killing time until dinner in a little shop of old things tucked away.

There was some rearranging, I stepped over furniture and tables that were left out in the way.

I walked through the shop and turned back towards the entrance, the shop laid like a U.

I heard her voice complaining, the one with all the stuff left out in the way…put this here, no, that is wrong, just get out the way…

No, you know I told you to do it this way!

Her voice was sharp, critical and chastising, her tone.

I imagined him being her husband standing with head down waiting to be redirected, told next what not to do wrong.

Then she mentioned a “Mr.” so I realized I was wrong.

She, dressed in soft cardigan and her pearls, continued to correct and I heard her and I heard his surrendered tone, oh, okay, okay.

Then I saw him as he waited for her instructing. His back was towards me, he was a small and thin older black man.

It bothered me suddenly.

I thought, this is wrong.

It really bothered me so, the way she spoke to him, her overbearing tone.

She saw me see her and her face turned away.

But, too late, it didn’t matter now, her unnecessary mistreatment had happened all the same.

It shouldn’t be this way.

Not now, not today.

And I have no special words that might lead to once and for all reconciliation of race.

Only that someone created by God with skin tone like me saw my face and corrected herself, at least for then.

She’d either been caught or recognized her wrong and although I know there’d be likely many, many years to be undone.

For a minute today, I saw her and I believe she saw herself.

My only regret is that his eyes did not meet mine, I’d love my notice of his surrendered situation to have met the notice in my eyes.

To have him see, not all of us are the same, none of us the same.

Not in every way,

But thankfully, some.

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