Basura: Crossing the line and the mixing of the races

I’m not old,

But I been around a long time. — Delbert McClinton

I recently returned a phone call from a woman in Alabama. I’d never met her. Her brother and I were friends in the Marine Corps. Marlin was killed in action in 1967; the woman was his sister.

She knew from something I’d posted on The Virtual Wall that Marlin and I were friends. I was able to assure her that Marlin had not suffered when he’d been hit – his death had been instantaneous. And I reminded her of what we both knew; Marlin had been a good man. He died trying to rescue a wounded man who was exposed to enemy fire.

The woman remarked on my accent. I reported my home state as Michigan. It’s different there, she said. But she wanted me to know that Marlin treated everyone well, as did the whole family. In our family, she told me, we were taught to treat all people with kindness and respect – “but don’t cross that line.”

She disclosed what she meant; that line was drawn as against the forbidden practice of interracial romance. Dating or marriage between the races was, she said, as “a line you just don’t cross.” We treat everyone decently and kindly, she said, but crossing that line is not tolerated.

The next day I went to my local hardware store. At the entrance, by the cash register were two women, one of whom I’d seen at the store for years. She was a white woman in her forties. At the other register was a much younger woman who appeared to be bi-racial. I asked for a guy named Tony, who’d helped me the day before. The young woman reported he was on lunch break, but almost done, she thought. She ran — sprinted — to the back of the store to check. I said, as she dashed away, that I wasn’t in any sort of hurry, and she needn’t run. But she ran.

I told the blonde woman that young people seem to be so loaded with energy that they run at any excuse. I run only if necessary.

“All my kids are like that,” she said. I had no idea they were mother and daughter, but upon learning that, thought I detected a resemblance. I complimented her on being the mother of such a seemingly nice kid. She confirmed that her daughter, and her others, were good kids, and she thanked me for the compliment.

As I drove home, I thought of Marlin’s sister. The woman at the hardware store and I had had a moment of pleasant interaction. It had never occurred to me that the woman had “crossed the line.” I know I didn’t marry my wife of 46 years because she is the same color as me. I married her for lots of reasons – similar values, similar interests, compatibility on a numerous variety of factors.

Maybe Marlin’s sister is right. It is different in the North.