My neighbors happen to be Caucasian, like me. My buddy Dave’s neighbors happen to be African American, like him. I drive through the West side of Kansas City, happens to be predominantly Mexican. Go to the casino, see groups of Asians, all probably happen to live amongst the rest.
I go to happy hour, at an all white bar, wonder what the view is from Dave’s shoes to be the only black man there. I talked to my friend Kathie, who’d gone to an all African American joint, she the only white there - and I wondered the view from her shoes, the other customer’s shoes. (“It was all good once they realized I was there just for a good time like them.”)
My son talks of his co-workers, mostly African American, and them talking about “life in the hood.” “Where do you live ‘Maynard’? “ Liberty. (Suburbia.) “Wow, there’s a buncha prejudice up there ain’t there?”
After I’d done the HyVee breakfast thing - I was so agonizing over the mundane pattern of life of late - and I needed a quick change. I know, to the City Market. It’s 10:30am though.. Probably most are gone.. They’re wrapping up booths… I went. I was wrong, hell, hadta park four blocks away it was so damn crowded.
The City Market is a football field sized place where vendors, all makes and walks - come to sell their fares. Squash, zucchini, melons, cucumbers, beans, tomatoes, parsley sage rosemary and thyme, bitter melons, honey melons, watermelons, sprouts, plants, flowers, jewelry, T-shirts, custom signs, beads, soul food, Italian food, Mexican food, Thai food, Sushi. There was even a baby wading pool filled with soda pop - the mastermind of two twelve year olds. At a buck apiece, if they sold 400 this morning, that’s a $100 apiece profit for them. Beats the hell outta a lemonade stand. (But you could get that there too.)
A rectangle of Ethnic grocery stores, clothing joints, musicians with a donation can in fronta them (today was harpist and violinist.)
Then three long pavilions inbetween where folks trudged to peek at the vendor’s ware. The sellers were Amish, Caucasians, African Americans, Philippians, Japanese, Chinese, Italians, Muslims, Hippies, etc, etc, kids of all of the above - dressed as their clan dressed - hawking the goods. Handwritten signs galore. Hustling service with a smile, and on this 95 degree day, perhaps a drop or two of perspiration.
I bumped into, due to the large crowd and the confined quarters, fat people, old people, young people, happy people, stoic people, tall people, pregnant people, gay people, people wearing too much, people barely wearing anything at all, people wearing all kindsa hats, t-shirts, dresses, people that couldn’t speak English, whiney kids, kids having a blast, white people, black people, brown people, yellow people, red people.
And it works. No confrontation. No terse words. Peaceful Coexistence. A thing of beauty. All there are just people, and the labels (unless you’re sucking it all in to perhaps write about it later) are forgotten at the time.
As I was headed to my car, I took one last lap around the joint - and smiled - at least inwardly, as I went. I even pushed the GD Pollyanna envelope as I passed by a middle aged, fairly heavy set African American woman’s booth fulla necklaces… as I passed, she flashed this wonderful, wonderful smile. Still within earshot, I hollered “you gotta great smile!” “THANK YOU” she responded back. I hoped it helped make her day - I know the place help make my day.
Many here are old fart singles, trying to find that forever melon, or forever cucumber…. It was simply fun to people watch, veg out, and take it all in with the eyeballs. Rainbows are beautiful, even if sometimes they’re associated with storms.
Loveya, Victurd
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