A sense of fairness

There’s a new movie coming out called The Butler. It deals with racism in America. Racism in Toronto was different. When I was a kid growing up there were no black students. I never met a black person. There were no black families in the city where I lived or in the suburbs where we moved when I was 6. The only blacks I saw were on the news and in Buffalo when my parents crossed the American border.

Its painful to recall the kind of ideas that were roaming around the heads of 9 and 10 year olds. Were Negroes the missing link between humans and apes? Were Negroes innately slower? Should they be allowed the same rights as the rest of us? Our inhumanity at that time is difficult to explain. But we were obviously picking up these ideas from the adult world. And there was something else. Something even stronger than these prejudices. A sense of fairness. No matter how you argued any issue, we all knew that ‘negroes’ weren’t being treated fairly.

rain on the tin roof

ANSWER ME

Rain on the tin roof. Rain on the tent canvas. Rain falling. Like a drunk staggering home to the woman he loves a little bit more after several drinks.

Watching television. House. You turned to me. Do you still love me. I don’t even know how to answer the question. Do I still love my arm. Or my skin. I think the cat wants in.

The fire has gone. Partly due to the medication. Partly due to my boredom. Partly due to that empty bottle rolling across the floor. And yes its partly due to you.

I’m beginning to lose my keys. I’m beginning to forget if I turned off the stove. I’m beginning to forget the names of the kids. But I’ll never forget you. Standing on that frozen corner. Selling jewellery to the freaks of nature. My last thought, I’m sure, is of you turning to answer me

To all the Robert Fords in this world