About 10 years ago, I went out with several male friends for dinner and drinks after our sons played basketball together. I am white. All the rest of the fathers were black.
We hung a lot together for a couple of years, watching our sons develop friendships, improve their respective games, and develop into a cohesive, fun team to watch. The fathers enjoyed hanging out together, too, and that included post-game conversations at local eating establishments in the Dallas-Fort Worth metro area.
When you’re a white guy, you don’t think too much about going out to eat. If you’re African-American, you think a bit differently. Stuff comes up. You deal with it the best you can. This column is about a couple of the restaurants we visited, and my learning experiences.
To the best of my recollection, the following incidents happened twice. It could have happened more frequently, but perhaps my radar wasn’t functioning yet. Both situations were similar.
We came in, got seated, then waited. Another table came in after us and they got served. A second table, and then a third came in, and they got service. We waited patiently. We were laughing, I’m sure, telling stories, enjoying each other. No one complained. But I noticed.
I noticed our group was African-American except myself. I noticed the tables getting waited on were all white people. After far too long, I stood up and went to the host/hostess, and asked that a wait person give us service. They apologized in both instances and someone came over fairly quickly and took our orders.
Here’s what interests me: I was the outraged person. My friends were not. They were used to it. And that is plain wrong. How many times had they gone into a restaurant or bar or other type of business and been marginalized, not given service, or ignored? I don’t know.
What I do know is that in just two situations of me going out with them, we did not receive service until I stood up to make an issue of it. Compound that over years of similar experiences or a lifetime of dealing with these types of incidents and how would you feel? As I white guy, all I can do is make the attempt to understand, intervene and make a point to others that these types of incidents DO happen. And not just occasionally.
To understand the perspective of others (which is a quality in extremely short supply today), we need to ask questions, listen openly, care enough to recognize when something is not right, and do something about it. I didn’t do enough in either of those incidents. Yes, I got a service person to our table. But I didn’t take the next step and make a point to the manager of the store. And, quite frankly, I’m not fully sure how far you go to make a point in a situation like that. We were having a good time. I seemed to be the most angered by the incidents.
Ten years later I remember both of those cases. I am still in touch with these men, but long distance, as our family moved to Wisconsin four years ago.
My vague memory tells me that we discussed the incidents back then, but there was shoulder shrugging, and a view of “not the first time it’s happened to me, so you roll with it” type of perspective. Maybe that’s what you do to get along.
It’s a story to share with others. For you to think about. Maybe more of us will pay attention closely to interactions, and approach others in one-on-one situations with a smile and open attitude. I work hard to be that way. I hope and pray others adopt a similar view.
We hung a lot together for a couple of years, watching our sons develop friendships, improve their respective games, and develop into a cohesive, fun team to watch. The fathers enjoyed hanging out together, too, and that included post-game conversations at local eating establishments in the Dallas-Fort Worth metro area.
When you’re a white guy, you don’t think too much about going out to eat. If you’re African-American, you think a bit differently. Stuff comes up. You deal with it the best you can. This column is about a couple of the restaurants we visited, and my learning experiences.
To the best of my recollection, the following incidents happened twice. It could have happened more frequently, but perhaps my radar wasn’t functioning yet. Both situations were similar.
We came in, got seated, then waited. Another table came in after us and they got served. A second table, and then a third came in, and they got service. We waited patiently. We were laughing, I’m sure, telling stories, enjoying each other. No one complained. But I noticed.
I noticed our group was African-American except myself. I noticed the tables getting waited on were all white people. After far too long, I stood up and went to the host/hostess, and asked that a wait person give us service. They apologized in both instances and someone came over fairly quickly and took our orders.
Here’s what interests me: I was the outraged person. My friends were not. They were used to it. And that is plain wrong. How many times had they gone into a restaurant or bar or other type of business and been marginalized, not given service, or ignored? I don’t know.
What I do know is that in just two situations of me going out with them, we did not receive service until I stood up to make an issue of it. Compound that over years of similar experiences or a lifetime of dealing with these types of incidents and how would you feel? As I white guy, all I can do is make the attempt to understand, intervene and make a point to others that these types of incidents DO happen. And not just occasionally.
To understand the perspective of others (which is a quality in extremely short supply today), we need to ask questions, listen openly, care enough to recognize when something is not right, and do something about it. I didn’t do enough in either of those incidents. Yes, I got a service person to our table. But I didn’t take the next step and make a point to the manager of the store. And, quite frankly, I’m not fully sure how far you go to make a point in a situation like that. We were having a good time. I seemed to be the most angered by the incidents.
Ten years later I remember both of those cases. I am still in touch with these men, but long distance, as our family moved to Wisconsin four years ago.
My vague memory tells me that we discussed the incidents back then, but there was shoulder shrugging, and a view of “not the first time it’s happened to me, so you roll with it” type of perspective. Maybe that’s what you do to get along.
It’s a story to share with others. For you to think about. Maybe more of us will pay attention closely to interactions, and approach others in one-on-one situations with a smile and open attitude. I work hard to be that way. I hope and pray others adopt a similar view.