- by Brad Hood
It has been over two weeks since George Floyd died and I continue to try to personally deal with the situation. I have avoided some of the flamboyant and over the top commenting on social media and have been concentrating on the advice of people in the know, people directly affected by racism, people that want to correct systematic racism that has been going on for way too long. One of the most recurrent sentiments I have encountered is folks trying to answer the question, “what can I do”?
One list I encountered with suggestions of how to begin reducing racism had as its number one item, make an effort to meet a black person. This is my story.
I was born into an inclusive family (white Irish decent) whose parents showed by example that it is important not to judge a book by its cover but by what’s inside. Mother would invite a person with nowhere to go for Thanksgiving dinner. My father would ferry a lonely older woman from down the street to her various jobs cleaning houses on his way to his six days a week retail job. Although my mother was a stay at home Mom and only my father earned a meagre wage they fostered a child that fifty years on I call my brother.
So now with this background information provided my story can begin. In 1969 I can remember the day I saw a slim neatly but lightly dressed black teenager walking through the parking lot on the way to school. It seemed natural that I should welcome this guy. It turns out his family had just newly arrived in Canada. We became good friends and remain close to this day. This fellow really changed my life when three years or so later he introduced me to the girl that I married. We are celebrating our 43rd anniversary in a couple of days.
He was also amazingly one of the first on the scene when I was flat on my back in the middle of 3rd Ave. East and 10th St. East intersection after I was cut off on my motorcycle. I have the newspaper photo to prove it. A third incident of note….our baseball team, in the mid 70’s was struggling to stay afloat due to lack of players. With no prior hardball experience my friend joined our team. With his enthusiasm and unique cricket like approach to batting and throwing he provided comic relief and soon became part of the team. We all laughed with him not at him, by the way.
Remember the number one item on the list I mentioned early in this epistle? My story has come full circle. I am thinking eight or nine white guys got the opportunity to meet their first black man in a recreational situation. I can’t say how it affected each and every one of them but perhaps it helped them understand we humans are all the same inside.
