Little Old Race Riot
True story: loud conversation overheard between two little old ladies. Good for an embarrassed chuckle of embarrassment.Deliberate as a turtle through the woods, Jenny says, “Brown, black, red, yellow, and white.” Above, fragrant apple petals slip from blossoms, accompanied by birdsong. Chicka-dee-dee-dee. Landed petals give her silver curls a pale pink cast.
“Oof!” Clara leans forward on the park bench. Her frail, refined body disguises a seargent’s voice. “You cannot call them that! You cannot label a person as a color.”
Jenny rubs a soft petal between her fingertips. “We have such hues. White, red—”
“That is ignorant. You cannot say someone is ‘red’ or ‘brown’. There are no ‘yellow’ people.” An upside-down squirrel click-clacks around the tree trunk.
“But color is beautiful.”
Dried leaves somersault across the lawn as Clara clutches the seat rest, white-knuckled. “If you are going to speak on this subject you must use the proper words. You must have greater respect. Label the races as they are properly termed: Oriental, Negroid...”
Comments
When words come from the heart, even if the words spoken or written aren't perfect, there is no argument. Or at least, the heart-driven person isn't arguing. People who love, understand, forgive, and help others don't have time to argue! =)