OUT-RACE-OUS

Editor's Note: I took a break from blogging this summer and I had planned to take a break from dating.  But the dating gods had other plans.

I've always been an equal opportunity dater.  Meaning, if you're upright and breathing I'll consider dating you.  In short, race has never really been an issue for me.  Racism however, is another subject.

I started chatting with "Atlanta Dave."  A good ole Georgia Peach who found himself transplanted to the heartlands of New Jersey.  Atlanta Dave had me in stitches.  North met South on topics like sweet tea, Zac Brown Band, and pie.   However, red rebel flags started flying during our first phone conversation.  It was obvious by his slurring that someone had had one too many mint juleps or PBRs to really hold a decent conversation.  So I did what any good Yankee would do, I became impatient and rude.

Ten minutes go by and the phone rings again.  It's the 'stewed peach"calling to apologize.  He's charming once again and we talk about swimming.  He makes an off-handed comment about how black people can't swim.  Part of  me is thinking, "Stace, just let it go." But I can't. I said to him, "I've never heard that." He says with a real authoritative voice, "Yeah, everyone knows that."  I said, "where did you get that theory from?"  He says, "well it's because of segregation.  "They" couldn't swim in our pools so they don't know how to swim and because of that to this day, blacks don't know how to swim."  I replied, "you do realize that swimming is not a genetic trait it's a learned skill.  It has nothing to do with race."

Hmmmmm.... silence... then dial tone.  

A few weeks later, I start talking to this other guy - "Greg Gee."  A longshoreman from a family with a long history of being longshoremen.  In addition to his longshoremanship his accolades included being from Breezy Point (one of the last of the all white neighborhoods), to getting me into this elite beach community of above said all-white neigborhood, to attending the funerals of a number of known made men, and finally his love of the Jersey Shore (the TV show not the geographic location).

So I choose to hone in on our common theme of loving the beach.  I tell him that I frequent Riis Park.  He grunts and says, " I hate it there, too many damn crickets."   I pause, and do a classic Scooby-Doo noise "Err?"  I first think, "bugs?"  I shake my head and say no.  Second, I think hipsters? Crickets have skinny legs, hipsters wear skinny pants but that can't be it.  So I said, "I'm sorry I've never heard that phrase before, educate me."  He replied astonished, "you know crickets?   Black people." At this point I have no words. Not that I'm up on all the derogatory slang words but its not the first that may come to my mind.  He followed my silent response up with a question, "Hey, what nationality are you?"  I replied, "Black Irish."  

What is it about me that attracts the crazy? I mean I could see if I listed my favorite color as crisp bed sheet white or hobbies include dancing around burning crosses or dead person I'd like to have dinner with most - Adolf Hitler than I could justify these approaches. But instead I'll just blog about it.