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And again, I say, who cares what other people think? Here's a little story. Forgive me if it gets too wordy. It was going to be a response to a post, but turned out too long and boring.
The other day, Thursday to be precise, I went alone to do a job that my black business partner had set up for us. Now, in the affluent "hills" section of our suburbs, I went to the home of a black man I had never met before. The distrust and wariness of me was so thick you could feel it in the air. He could barely open his mouth to force the words of greeting out. I commented admiringly about his amateur studio he had set up in an ante-section of his house, as we passed through to the interior, and he barely grunted an acknowledgment of my having even spoken.
As we entered the family section, his wife, seated upon the couch, ignored my entry, but I greeted her warmly, anyway, sort of forcing an engagement. At first I was careful, because I did not want to appear flirtatious, or too casual with another man's wife. I began my assessment.
Before long, she began watching a preacher on a small television perched on the hearth, a man I had seen before, and I liked his style, so I commented as much to her. She replied with a warmer-than-before response. The whole time, her husband was nearby, quietly "ignoring" me, while it was obvious he didn't want to let me out of his sight. On my way out to my vehicle, once again I commented on his studio, and asked him a few questions about it. I was genuinely interested, because his hobby and mine were the same. But even if not for that particular subject line, I would have tried to find another platform for some common ground. All it would cost me was a few words and some time. Ever polite, and working hard to meet my deadline, I managed to squeeze a few syllables from him as we passed each other.
Nearing the end of my assessment, my work led me to the studio, where he sat working at a laptop computer, while watching the football game on television. While engaging in small talk, and the necessary talk of business, I articulated my genuine interest in his hobby by demonstrating what knowledge I had of it, and comparing our equipment (his was far superior to mine). Suddenly, it was like the clouds clearing, and the bright sun shining down. The distrust melted away, the "labels" he had assigned to me were suddenly torn off, and we had a good old fashioned man-to-man about this and that, and "do you have any business cards, I'd like to give your name out to my friends."
I don't know what labels he had affixed to me. I frankly don't care. I do know that what could have been just another business relationship has become a friendship. The walls between us are paper thin, transparent. We can see each other moving about in our little worlds, carrying our gossamer walls around with us. Even those of us who cry out to have their walls down, will often spin new ones as fast as the old ones fall to the ground.
The next day, which was Friday, I went to deliver my business cards and a thank you gift to the man's residence. A young woman was standing next to a Mercedes at the drive lane, holding an infant. The young lady was the spirit and image and image of her mother, who was the lady of the house.
I parked at the end of the lane and as I approached her on foot, bearing my gift and my cards, she visibly tensed. Very warily she asked, with suspicion dripping from her words, "May I help you?" Mustering my confidence, I smiled and explained why I was there. "You don't need to deliver them to my Dad yourself, do you?" she asked.
Here we go again.