Prejudice remains alive and well in this country, but apparently so does honor and courage. Today, I was enjoying a fun last weekday before joining the real world of full-time employment on Monday. My entertainment of choice: check out a few museums I’d been meaning to investigate. At the end of the day, I hopped on a 32 and happily headed home through Georgetown. Sitting near the back, I noticed a cute young man, clad in a light blue t-shirt, auburn curls adorning his head. Ten feet away, a heavy-set, middle-aged, crew-cut white man noticed this fellow as well, but in a different light.
“Hey, how many deustche marks d’ya have in your pocket, son,” the prejudiced man belted out. The boy and his apparent father, mother and young brother weren’t speaking German. They were speaking French. Little matter apparently. They, along with the rest of the bus, tried to ignore the man.
Unsatisfied, he tried again. “You think we can’t understand you, but we can. Especially those of us from the military.” I was starting to get concerned. “This is an American bus!” the man went on. “You better hope I don’t come back there and poke a pin hole in your butt.”
People on the bus were starting to take notice, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. I wanted to tell the man that in America, we have freedom of speech and diversity is what we’re all about…or should be. And I wanted to tell him that no one uses deustch marks ANYWHERE any more, especially not in France. But I sat in my seat silent.
The man made his way toward the back doors, toward the French family. “You better be glad that girl is standing between us, or I’d poke a pin hole in your butt,” the man threatened. “That girl” appeared to be the boy’s mother. Frightened, she sat down to avoid the man. As she did, a hispanic man rose to stand in front of the boy, clearly blocking the old man’s way. He didn’t say a thing, didn’t confront him at all. He just stood there, a human wall of courage.
“I’m going to introduce you to the Klan!” the prejudiced man said, in a final utterance of a threat. The hispanic man stood strong. He didn’t know the family from Adam. He simply knew right from wrong, and he acted upon it.
A few minutes later, the old man thankfully got off the bus without acting on his words. The bus riders heaved a collective sigh of relief and the hispanic man sat down again. I don’t know his name, but some might call him “angel.” Whoever he is, the world can sure use a whole lot more folks like him.
