Find Courage
I was walking today to work from the Metro station along H street. I was composing a blog entry in my head that started something like this:
This summer has got to be the most miserable summer in memory. It’s been non-stop humidity, near-century temperatures for almost two whole months. Too hot to do anything. Too humid to breathe. To hazy to see. Walking in the District is like wading through snail slime. And I’ve taken to glowering at everyone, just like everyone else in this forsaken city. If I glare, they won’t ask me for money. Right?
This is what I was thinking as I walked past the DC Convention Center, but I was distracted by a cheerful black man, probably in his early thirties, lounging on the bench. His hair short, his beard trimmed, his clothes clean and casual, and no large piles of bags. His legs were stretched out in front of him and he had spread his arms out on the back of the chair like he was sitting on his couch at home.
He did not look like the homeless or insane who regulary inhabit the H street benches.
As I looked at him, he smiled, made a fist at me and pounded the air. In a perfect orator’s voice, he said “Find courage, White People. Find courage!”
I don’t know what he meant. I don’t even know how he meant it. But it’s probably good advice no matter what. Find courage.