Catholic Charities here in Albuquerque has a marvelous opportunity for volunteers where they can sign up for the Senior Transportation Service which offers free rides to seniors of the community for medical appointments, grocery acquisition, etc.

I am one of the team of volunteers, and on one of these very recent excursions, I was assigned an elderly black woman, petite but strong, good humored but wise, sharp but amicable. Within the context of the recent COVID-19 restrictions, the rider is asked to remain in the back seat and wear a mask along with the driver. The relatively large blue mask could not hide the joy, nor the spark and glitter that framed her demeanor, vitality and beautiful face. As this transportation held the likelihood of a weekly repeat due to the nature of her needs, it behooved us both to allow for a bit more familiarity than would normally be expected on a 'one-off' cab-service.

I asked her if I could share some of the stories, within the context of anonymity, that she eagerly proffered in this societal environment of protest and civil unrest. Without hesitation, she consented and continued her storytelling. I relate these stories as a quote from my imperfect memory, and I ask for pardon if some of the details are not exact.

"I was born in Atlanta, Georgia. However, when I was young, my family moved to Southern Florida. Back in those days, you could open the Yellow Pages and see how the public schools were listed. If it was an all white school, the names were all spelled out. If it was an all black school, the names were all abbreviated. Like 'Thomas Jefferson' for the white schools and 'T.J.' for the black schools. A
white man in those days would never call a black man or woman by their real, full name. They would always have a 'pet' name for you, or a nickname. (Implying a devaluation and lack of honor). The Klu Klux Klan would burn down a black man's family home just to prove that a black man could not support his family.

I worked for decades with the Civil Service. I was a member of the United States Air Force back in the day. After retirement, a white woman came up to me and said, "Now that you are retired, maybe you would want to clean my house as a maid. I would pay you for it!" I said, "Woman, I have my own house to take care of, so why would I want to care for yours, too!"

A black man in Detroit was walking down the street at night with his hands in his pockets. It was cold. A white woman from the second story calls the police because she is scared. The police come and detain the man. They ask him why he has his hands in his pocket. The black man replies that he has his hands in his pocket because it is cold, and that he is a neighbor to the scared white woman. She didn't even know her own neighbors!

When I went to buy my first car, the salesman said he would not even allow a conversation about purchasing a car without my husband present. And then, when my husband finally did arrive, the salesman would only talk with him and kept saying things like, "She doesn't need a radio. She doesn't need this or that." My husband wasn't going to drive the car, I was! You know, black people are very
forgiving. We only want to be treated with the same respect and honor that should belong to everyone. And stop broadly judging and categorizing because of the color of our skin or because of assumptions toward our economic status."

May we all take to heart the lessons this lady offers to us. It is my prayer, and hopefully yours too, that justice, respect and honor not remain ideological concepts, but that every American, Christian or otherwise, finds in their heart of hearts, the space to evaluate their own presumptions, assumptions and attitudes toward the neighbors that we should know, or the neighbors we think we know.