Conversations with Dave

Conversations with Dave
Going eye to eye with an ism

Jim pulled into Dave’s driveway to find him in an agitated state, huffing on a cigarette.
Seeing him, Dave exhaled sharply and exclaimed, “Right on my own damn front yard!”
Jim looked around and mockingly surmised, “Oh, the moles…yea I’ve got trouble with the little bastards too.”
Dave looked back with half rolled eyes and broke into a smile saying, “Goddamn you, can’t you just let a guy enjoy a moment of rage?”
“Ok, ok.” Jim said as took a seat on the stoop, “Give me the scoop.”
Dave flicked a butt into the flower bed and lit another, using it to emphasize his opening statement, “I get home from work and see four or five kids standing over two more fighting in the corner of my lot. I can’t tell who yet, but I can see that the one on top doing the pounding is black, and the one getting the shit kicked out of him looks like he could be my son! So I ran over and yelled out, get your black ass off of him!
Everything stops and the black kid looks at me like I did something wrong.
Now it wasn’t Jacob, but he was white, so I pointed my finger into the colored kid’s face and said, You get on home now boy!
So then ten minutes later he’s back with his dad, I guess, and they want an apology from me! But I just stood my ground and stared right through them until they walked away.”

Jim decided to use the same tactic and sat stone faced until Dave said, “What!”

“Go get us a couple beers and we’ll kick this around.” Jim requested.
Shrugging his shoulders, Dave headed into his house. While he had a moment, Jim considered the situation. Having always respected his friend as a man of above average intelligence, he was also aware that, like just about anyone, Dave’s perception of reality had its holes. In this case, a black hole that sucked in any rational thought on the matter threatening to temper his reactive mind. Jim also reminded himself that he had been fortunate enough not to have had racial prejudices taught to him throughout childhood. When the door reopened, Jim felt ready to navigate the issue.

Dave handed him a beer and slugged on his own as he paced on the sidewalk saying, “It’s not like I’m a bigot. Hell, there’s a black guy working two machines down from me, but that doesn’t mean I lock my tool box when I go on break.”
He looked back to Jim who had begun staring again, and then threw his arms out wide and exclaimed, “I drove him home when his car was in the shop last month, talked the whole way. Told him how much I admired Jackie Robinson for having the balls to do what he did. Said the sports world was all the better for it.”

Jim could no longer hold his pose and began to grin

“Say something or get the Hell out of here!” Dave exploded.

Jim stroked his goatee and slowly stood to his full 6’1”, a head taller than Dave. Plucking a smoke from Dave’s shirt pocket, he lit it and asked, “How thick is your skin today?”
Intrigued, Dave took a seat and said, “Hit me.”

It was Jim’s turn to pace and punctuate his sentences with a glowing baton.
“First, let me say that it’s no secret to me that you have a sensitivity about…not being six foot tall. Let me also note that in all my years of knowing you, I have found that the dignity with which you carry yourself makes this an absurd waste of angst.
That said, let’s suppose we tweak our reality slightly so that it becomes color blind, but vertically biased. Suppose the minimum acceptable male measure is six feet, anything less is considered less than a man. Suppose you retain all of the intellect and skill that were yours in this realm, and apply for a job in your field of expertise. You are granted an interview based on an aptitude test, which of course by law carries no height related information. When you walk through the door, the man behind the desk has his eyes focused above your head, and as he lowers his gaze his countenance descends with it.
He tells you he’ll let you know, but experience tells you he will not. Not because you’re not qualified to do the work, but because nature has cursed you six inches short of social acceptance.”

“Alright, I’m with you.” Dave said thoughtfully, prompting Jim to push the analogy further. Taking a few steps and exhaling a steam of smoke in the upward direction he seemed to be drawing his thoughts from, Jim continued, “Returning home you find RUNT burned into your front lawn, presumably for daring to have moved into a tall neighborhood. Those on the block who do tolerate you go out of their way to bring up accomplishments of other short people, letting you know that…some of you are ok.
You develop a well deserved wariness of the talls that they amazingly hold against you”

During his best closing arguments pivot, Jim flashed on the final nugget needed to bring it home. “Suppose your son comes to you crying because a group of tall family kids have been bullying him, and when he finally fought back, a tall parent called him boy to let him know that he’d never be a man. Suppose when you go to talk it out, the tall man just stares over your head, incredulous that you don’t know your place in society.”

“Enough!” Dave surrendered, looking sheepish and dropping his head, “I can be such an asshole.”

“We all can, hopefully that’s why we have friends…to help us see and overcome it.” Jim reassured him, grabbing Dave’s hand and helping him up.