Do You Understand This Man? We Think We Do…But Do We?

For years I told my students a story, a true story, a quiz really, about a man who, as a reward for his distinguished work in his field, purchased a Lamborghini. He then drove it to visit his father.

I have left out some key details, and as I include them, you will undoubtedly begin to know how the story, and the quiz, concludes. (My high school students did, too.)

The Year—early 1960’s

The State the father lived—Alabama

The Man driving the car—A black man, approximately 6’10’’ tall

The City he purchased the car---Boston

With those clues you may have already solved the mystery of what happened to this black man once he crossed the Alabama state line.

 

Yep, you guessed it. He was pulled over by the police. You’ve probably guessed why.

After telling the “boy” to get out of the car, assumed to be stolen, (you know why, right?) the man did something that only someone well versed in the politics of the situation does—he raised his hands, high—oh, so very high. He waved them around. Why?

You may have guessed that, too. So other motorists would stop and see this spectacle: a 6’10” black man standing next to a Lamborghini. Not an everyday occurrence on a country road in the heart of Dixie.

Naturally people stopped. Lots of folks did. Before the policeman could do too much mischief, someone turned to the officer and said something to the effect, “Hey, y’all know who that man is, Officer? That man is Bill Russell. Why he’s that famous basketball player from up north in Boston. I seen him on TV. Others confirmed this identification.

And finally, predictably, the officer decided to apologize. But before he let Mr. Russell go he asked for something. You know what it is, right? Tell you in a minute.

55 years later the Black Lives Matter is still marching for the dignity that all lives deserve. However, this is not an essay about civil injustice. It’s not about police harassment. It’s not about race. It’s not about Mr. Bill Russell, the greatest champion his sport has ever known. Nope.

This is an essay about one of the many lessons Atticus Finch imparted on his daughter Scout…and if he is not known to you, perhaps you’d best read the novel.

I have no idea what it is like to be black, Hispanic, illegal, female, famous, athletically gifted, etc.

I have no idea what it is like to be a student at any school where there has been a mass shooting.

I do not know the prejudice faced by women in the work place. 

I do not know what it is like to be a slave. 

I do not know what it is like to run the Veterans Administration VA.

I don’t know what it is like to be a hunter. 

I don’t know what it is like to be a politician, democrat/ republican or something in between. 

I don’t know what it is like to be gifted beyond the normal scope of men and women.

But this I do know. I want to learn. Ignorance is not bliss—it is lazy. Ignorance wraps itself in a security blanket that makes people secure in their myopic view of the world. 

I have never been a soldier or one that parachuted into a war zone.

I have never been homeless. 

I have never been addicted to drugs. 

But I know these people.I tried to understand them.

I can have sympathy, but not empathy. So life’s journey, if you are a person who is compassionate and tolerant—open minded to different ideas, even some that at first blush are distasteful, life’s journey is to find out the answers. To make the effort to learn about those whose experiences are so different than your own.

Atticus Finch sat on the porch with his daughter Scout, who can’t understand her teacher’s actions, and explained it this way: “If you learn a simple lesson, Scout, you’ll get along a whole lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view. Step in their shoes and walk around in them.” To Atticus’ way of thinking, that was the only way to explain compassion and understanding. It is when we feel it, really feel it, whether in a book, a documentary, a film, a neighbor, a relative, a song…or the man whose room has the decorations won in a war that ultimately we as a nation…lost.

It’s really simple. Oh, and the officer who stopped Bill Russell that sunny day, what did he ask for?

An  autograph. God’s honest truth…but I bet you already guessed that.