It would be easy to beat that country singer with my words like a pinata.
His prejudice and ignorance are on full display in his music video.
I don’t care if he didn’t know about the lynching that happened in front of the courthouse.
Someone knew.
Or should have known.
Another perspective is more important than swinging low at little people.
My wife is from a small town in Nebraska.
We travelled together through that state, Iowa, and Kansas.
We have made road trips through these states.
I never have and I never will be comfortable making those trips.
It won’t stop me from making them.
I want to go where I want to go.
I also don’t want to hinder my wife from enjoying life.
We both know that she signed up for certain things when she married a Black man. She’s experienced enough to understand as much as she can from the outside, and sometimes not as outside as I would like her to be.
When we drive through these towns, as well as towns in my home state of Georgia, and through Florida, North and South Carolina, I’m wary, and watchful.
I always try to be polite, but during these trips, I’m even more polite.
I’m always vigilant, but when these trips occur, I’m a thousand times more vigilant.
I’m forever wary.
Wary of being pulled over by the police.
Wary of a perceived slight or insult from a White stranger.
Wary of looking like someone who doesn’t belong where I am or where I’m going.
During my first marriage, my then-wife and I were travelling to Savannah. We needed to make a pit stop. We ended up stopping at a bar in the middle of nowhere.
We went inside.
The bar was empty, but on one of the walls was a tapestry with a skeleton riding a horse with a six-gun in its hand and a large Confederate flag in the background.
At that moment, we realized that there were better choices for a Black couple to make a rest stop, and we quickly got back in our car.
Another time, I was going to the wedding of a friend. They were having the ceremony outside of the city in a wooded area.
As we parked and ran into Black guests, we joked about having to come this far outside of the city and how it was nerve wracking being out in the woods because “nothing good happens to Black people out in the woods.”
We were joking and also being deadly serious.
It can be in your hometown, but the wrong part of your hometown.
It can be your home state, but outside of the big city.
In the woods.
On back country roads.
In cities where you can count other People of Color.
The uneasiness, jangly nerves, and abundance of caution are always there.
We live our lives on guard.
We try not to be fearful and timid.
We do our best to enjoy life.
But we can’t afford to be too careful.
We can’t afford to take anything for granted.
We can’t because we know what happens in the South.
And in the North, East, Midwest, and West.
It can happen anywhere.
In our own living room.
In our own bed.
So when we are dared to “try it in a small town,”
Our response is
What makes you think your town is different than anywhere else in America?