One Thanksgiving Eve, I stopped at a neighborhood store to buy dessert for a party. A black woman in the back of the store offered gourmet ice cream samples. After passing twice, I relented, as did a white woman. She was a middle school teacher from Harlem coming off of a pretty rough workday. We exchanged small talk.
When the teacher began to complain about her tough day with the schoolchildren in Harlem, the sample lady snorted, and scoffed, “Well, when your mother is on drugs and your father isn’t around and…” I interrupted before she could finish the sentence to ask why she would make such a broad, ugly statement. She muttered some inanity about black folks and drugs and gangs, so I cut her off again. I know that was rude, but I couldn’t stop myself.
