d'Andre scratched his chin, trying to articulate what it is about the Seattle folks he'd met that had struck him as peculiar. Since crashing with me, he and Pam had spent the subsequent couple of business days living and working amongst the Seattle Chill, and now that we were taking our leave of one another, I asked what they thought of the folks they'd met.
They're nice enough, he said, in that way you know there's a but coming. "But they tell you what they're about." Huh? "Well, it's like, 'Hi, I'm Josie, and I'm into hiking and the kabala and I'm a vegan.' Instead of, you know, just being a hiker or a vegan and letting me discover it for myself. People here introduce themselves by ticking off the trends they're into. It's really weird. They don't tell interesting stories about themselves. They don't tell you about the bear they ran into while on a hike."
Pam finished his thought. "They just present characteristics for your consideration."
I have nothing to add.
Sitting around the campfire a week earlier, we recounted stories we'd both heard before but that Pam had not. Our earliest memories of race came up. d's story is too personal for me to share, but mine is publishable. Stupid, but publishable. I was 8 or 9, and my older sister was dating a kid named Manuel whom I'd never met but who, I had gathered, was somehow so objectionable that his very existence was hidden from my parents, lest she die. So one night, we were sitting peaceably around the dinner table when this sister suddenly asked, "Mom, Dad, are you racist?"
They were oblivious to being set up.
No, of course not, came the reply. All of God's children are created blah blah in His eyes blah blah blah.
I don't remember much of what was said because my attention was riveted on my other siblings, who were suddenly shoveling food into their mouths like it was water and they had raging tongue fires. Clearly, they heard a bomb ticking. I followed suit, and the four of us cleaned our plates and got out of the house in record time. The conversation on race continued. Traps were sprung, yelling ensued, accusations of hypocrisy were made, and ultimatums were laid. I hear. But I certainly learned my lesson, and I would never myself date a kid named Manuel.