Debunking Racism-One Klansman at a Time

Yesterday, I saw a documentary on Netflix called Accidental Courtesy.  It's the story of blues/jazz musician Daryl Davis and his relationship with white supremacists.

Interestingly, Davis is Black.

It's not often that I find something truly thought provoking these days.  Neither do I find very many unique approaches to societal problems. 

But, Daryl Davis is both thought provoking and unique.

His premise is a simple one.  He began to ponder on this question as a boy:

"Why do people hate me when they don't even know me?"

To give some context, you need to know that Davis was born in 1958.  His father was in the Secret Service and later he was a Department of State Foreign Service Officer.  Because of his father's vocation, Davis lived all over the world as a child and was exposed to various cultures, races, and religions.  He went to school with children from all over the globe.

And they all got along fine.

Until he came home to the America northeast and joined the Cub Scouts.

While marching in a parade with the other Cubbys, things were thrown at him.  He must have been a pretty cute little kid, because he thought that people in the town must really hate the Cub Scouts.  He didn't even realize that he was the only black child in the group, nor did he realize that he was the only one being hit with projectiles.

When he got home and described the incident to his parents, they broke the sad news to him that there were people who hated him because of his skin color.  Instinctively, he was sure that they were wrong.  People didn't hate over something so superficial!  Anyway, how could they hate him if they didn't even know him?

He was certain that his parents were lying to him.

His ten-year old mind could not get around the fact that his parents were telling him an awful truth.

He went on to attend Howard University where he graduated with a degree in music.  Since then, he's made a name for himself playing with such legendary icons of American music as Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, and B.B. King, to name just a few.

Along the way, though, he developed an interesting side vocation: meeting and befriending white racists and supremacists.

Flying the Friendly Skies

Megan in FreeFall

Fiancée has some quirks.

One of her quirks is that she loves being surprised.  You may lazily yawn and say that you enjoy a good surprise, too.  But that is not at all what I'm talking about.  I mean that she LOVES it.

Think last-day-of-school-summer's-here-now kind of excited.

Think winning a billion dollar lottery kind of excited.

Think the-kids-are-gone-for-the-weekend kind of excited.

If you're female, think bubble bath, a glass of wine, and no one yelling, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy," kind of excited.

If you're a guy, think kids are being quiet, she's shriveling in the bath, and I'm not in trouble for something that I don't really understand kind of greatness.

She gets like a little kid.

Not kidding.

Needless to say, I noticed this pretty early on in our relationship, and, to my credit, I have created some cool surprises for her.

Redfish in Venice, Louisiana

Once, I took her fishing in Venice, Louisiana.  She had no idea where we were going, much less the reason for the trip.  We were at the end of the continental United States, right before one disappears into the Gulf of Mexico, and she still didn't quite know what we were doing all the way down there.  She didn't do very well at guessing that surprise, but she caught plenty of redfish and speckled trout that day.  She was excited.

So, keeping with the tradition of random surprises, I found a skydive place and booked a reservation for her.  Unbeknownst to her, of course.  Then I told her the date and said that that day was all mine because she had a surprise coming.  I even handled the child-care issues.

She says that I'm amazing.

Who am I to question insight when it's so perceptive?

Shipwrecked at Angola

Shipwrecked

Well... We made it back from the rodeo all in one piece.  We even had a good time, mostly.  Successful trip, I'd say.  Wouldn't you?

We began the journey later than we meant to, but, of course, that's my fault.  Somehow.

As you may or may not know, Fiancée has two sons.  One, of course is the little tornado; he's eight.  The other is a freshman in college; he's eighteen.  We decided to swing by his university and include him in our little rodeo soiree.  I was happy to do so, and I'm glad he went.  Besides, he's thin, so he doesn't really add much weight to the bus.

After picking up skinny boy, we headed to Vidalia, Louisiana to overnight in the Wal-Mart parking lot there.  I'm really getting acquainted with the Wal-Mart parking lots in America.

Crossing the Mighty Mississippi

I went to sleep with instructions to be awakened at a certain time, but Fiancée took pity on me and let me sleep in.  (For you English critics out there, "in did she allow me to sleep.")  She's really very sweet to me.  And I do try hard to appreciate her kindnesses.  My new motto is: "Clocks be damned!"  It's easier that way.

We crossed the mighty Mississippi River into Natchez, Mississippi and headed south to Angola.  I've never been this way before, so I had no knowledge of the local roads.  I followed the GPS which directed me onto a "highway" that has a speed limit of 45mph.  Hmmmph.  I came to the conclusion that 45mph was a very optimistic assessment of the maximum speed that one should travel on this particular stretch of asphalt, patches, and potholes.