I recently took my cousin to catch a midnight bus back to Florida. The bus station wasn’t in the best part of town. It was secluded, and in a crime-ridden area.
I dropped him off at 11:30 p.m. and headed home. However, the road construction, closed ramps and bridges, and my unfamiliarity with the streets caused me to get lost. I wasn’t too worried, though. I knew the city skyline well enough to know what direction I needed to head.
As I drove down the dimly lit streets, making my way toward the only bright area (thanks to the glow of a nearby hospital), someone walked in front of my car. Luckily, she didn’t cut it too close and I wasn’t going that fast. Her friend who followed, however, stopped. But I didn’t stop. I tapped my breaks out of instinct and kept driving. However, as I passed the nurse in her pink scrubs, I wondered, how come I didn’t stop and let her cross? That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. But I didn’t stop. In fact, I barely paused.
Was I anxious because it was late and I was lost in an unsavory part of the city? Then I noticed something else about the nurse, she was African-American. I am white. In my heart, I know I didn’t carry any malice toward the nurse. In fact, I felt sorry for her having to work so late. My cousin’s wife is a nurse and I’ve heard her complaints. But in my head I couldn’t help but wonder had she been white, would I have stopped? I don’t think it would have made a difference, but did it?
Like the way I instinctively applied my brakes when the first nurse darted across the road – had something programmed inside me caused me not to stop for the second nurse? Was it because I was lost? Or, was it because she was African-American? I pondered these things, but had answers for none.
I drove on, feeling bad about not stopping. But as I continued through the city, I realized something else. It seemed every person I saw from that time on was of a different race than me, as if the world was saying, “People are people; you should apply the brakes for all.”
I saw a group of Middle Eastern young adults dressed nicely, out for a night on the town. When I went to the grocery store, a Latin American family stood behind me in line, speaking Spanish to each other. As I began to realize what I was seeing in the various things that occurred, I smiled. True, I had not stopped for the African-American nurse when I should have. But, unlike when I was lost, driving down the dark city streets, I was seeing things clearly now. The not-so-chance encounters during the remainder of the night gave me a chance to evaluate my instincts. And I vowed that from then on out, that no matter where I was, or the hue of the person’s skin, I would apply my brakes for people of all races and ethnicities.