Saturday Sunday

I honestly feel like I encounter some form of racism everyday. Maybe it's just because the topic is always on the mind. My subconscious makes me conscious of things that most people are unaware of. Or maybe what I am dubiously witnessing is truly not there. I remember one of my mentors growing up, Worcester State professor Sid Buxton, used to break down practically everything on Saturdays to minority high-school students in a program called Upward Bound (or as we liked to call it UB). In doing so Sid would dissect puzzling issues step by step, making sure that we understood matters from the ground up. The meticoulous nature in which he would approach each subject is something that everyone respected. His knowledge was seemingly never ending, and he always had stories to back up what he said, like in his spare time he researched his research.
Nevertheless one day, he touched upon the black expectancy rate, and more specifically health issues that are harming the black community. Amongst the most fatal was heart disease. Sid took a break from his usually thorough analysis to say something so simplistic, that it almost made too much sense.
"The black man in America always has questions in that one question in the back of his head.. Is it because I'm black. We constantly have to worry and protect ourselves, but at the same time we need the help of others. Health care. Job security. etc. The question of causes an overwhelming amount of stress. High blood pressure, heart failure, where do you think that stems from." (im paraphrasing... just slightly).
I bring this up several years later, because I feel the burden of that paralyzing question far too often. No longer do I ask 'is it because I'm black', because I hate asking questions I already know the answer to.
For instance, two Sundays ago, I was in church, of all places. trying to get my Godly worship on, when the 'ISITCUZIMBLACK' question escaped the back of my mind and pounded my frontal lobe. The uneasy feeling that race issues garner took my mind and body hostage, near the end of service, just before I was about to get nourished by feasting on the bread and the whine. Before doing so however, you must engage with your fellow congregation members in an offering of peace with one another. Honestly, this is always one of my favorite times in a church service because it's so genuine and positive. To see people embrace in peace even if it is ritualistic and just a simple handshake is always great. Anyways, on my mission to dap up everyone in sight, there's this old man with an older woman.
Jovially, in the spirit of Christ, I extend my hand to the man first.
The result:
Hand meet air.
Perplexed I looked at him and he looked back with a cheapish smiled. With my spirits a little dampened, I still mustered up the courage try and shake the elderly woman's hand next to him. The result: Hand have some more air.
The sanity that church always brings me couldn't prevent the onslaught of questions that my mind was about to run through. Yes, it was that simple to bring me from being cool calm and Christ like, to being contemplative.
Go ahead say it:
"We're not in the 60's anymore"
"My president is black, my Lambough's blue, brother"
I'm ecstatic about both statements, and I hope the two non hand shakers are too. They could have had perfect excuses. They could have hands plagued by arthritis. They both could have had swine and didnt want it to spread..
Idk, whatever it was, the action made me start thinking of what Sid said. Every Saturday Sid would say something genius. He's pretty much the black Nastradamus. However what he said that one Saturday has stayed with me like a lingering problem
Maybe because its a problem that's almost incorrectable. Rooted in our nation's history, and consequently planted in the mind.
JdotE