So I was collecting donations for an event I was hosting for people with special needs.
One of the donations I needed to pick up was in a gated community.
The community was filled with huge McMansions. Gigantic lots. Garages that had room for three, four, or five cars – and that were most likely full, or would be once the family was home. Perfect landscaping. Lakes. Pools. Probably their own police force.
I won’t lie – it was kind of intimidating for those of us who grew up in a 900 sq ft house.
I found the house I was looking for. Pulled into the driveway. Parked.
There were a couple of middle-aged white guys hanging by the garage. I could feel them – and see them – watching me as I climbed out of my dusty jeep with the cracked windshield. My car clearly didn’t belong in the neighborhood. I probably gave off the stank of a lack of funds to them.
I’m sure they knew I didn’t belong there.
But they silently watched me as I walked up to the front door and picked up the goodies that were left for me.
I was half-convinced they’d raise some kind of alarm or come chasing after me, accusing me of stealing the bag full of drink koozies.
As I climbed back into the car, I realized my fears were possibly well-founded, but they were nothing compared to the fears I’d have had if I had been in the same position but black.