This is the story I wanted to discuss, which I mention briefly when I quoted Balrog above.
When I was growing up, I had to deal with my stepfather. He was an ******* in many ways, one of them being the racist things he would say. I hate to admit this, but he was in my life during the formative years, so for a while he had an influence on how I looked at other people. Thanks for exposing me to this tool, ma! I am forever in your debt for that!
Anyway, that all changed when I was in my early teens. I was not a popular kid in school, and most of the kids who mocked me were the popular kids. You got it: white kids. So I was alone a lot, and very few people showed any kindness toward me.
In our high school, we had lockers that were down in the lower level, near the cafeteria. It was the kind of location where you would expect to find Freddy Krueger hanging out in the boiler room at the other end of the hall. I decided to pick a locker in this hallway for one simple reason: NO ONE ELSE DID. Therefore I would be alone, with no worries about being picked on by some alpha male jock prick and his neanderthal cronies.
So one day I am sitting at my locker between classes, reading a book and just waiting for next period to start. This black kid comes along. I can still remember how he looked and what he wore: a little bit taller than me...super skinny...baseball cap...BIG glasses...baggy (but not sagging) jeans. I did not look up at him because in my experience, eye contact was an invitation to a bullying session. It would often start out with, "What the F are YOU looking at?"
He started to open his locker. I keep on reading.
He says, "Hey, how's it going?"
I look up. Sure enough, he is looking at me. I mumble "hey" or something to that effect. The interaction has started out friendly enough, but again, basing all of this on past experience, it could be a ruse to get me to let my guard down. He is looking for me to say, "Hi, my name is Steve, and I write poetry!" So he can then go to his friends and mock me for being a sensitive poetry-writing wimp!
He continues. "I've seen you down here before. You're alone a lot, aren't you?"
I find this odd for a couple reasons. First of all, I don't ever remember seeing him; I always seemed to be at my locker alone. Second, he saw me...and remembered me? This was confusing, as I considered myself to be largely forgettable.
He is still rooting through his locker, and I realized I haven't answered his question yet.
So I said, "Yeah, I am."
"You don't have a lot of friends, huh?" he asks.
If I answer this honestly, will that be when the assault begins? I don't know. I decide to be honest anyway.
"No, not really."
The bell goes off. Time to head to class! I stand up, shove the book I was reading into my bookbag, and get ready to leave. Skinny Guy comes over to me as I am shrugging my bookbag on to my shoulders.
To my surprise, he has his hand out.
"Sean," he says.
I reach out and shake his hand, telling him my name. He says it is nice to meet me, and that he will see me around. I stand there in the hallway for a moment, alone and stunned and silent. Slowly but surely, a smile creeps over my face. Of course, for me a smile means there is the slightest hint of upturn at the corners of my mouth, but it is a smile nevertheless. It dawns on me that in less than twenty words, Sean the Black Kid has laid to waste all the ******** that my stepfather spews at home. In less than twenty words, he showed me more kindness than any twenty white kids.
And for those of you who may be wondering...no, I never saw him again, but I'm still grateful.
Thanks, Sean.