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The past six months have felt like years. So much has changed. Covid has caused division and left us out of normalcy. And then there was the George Floyd incident followed by riots. And through it all, I feel like our nation has never been so divided.
Admittedly, it is with hesitancy that I share this story.
I am a white kid, from Eau Claire, Wisconsin and honestly cannot think of one instance that I have been discriminated against in my life. I realize that I will never be able to understand what it is like to be a black person in America, and I do not know if these are the right words to share, or if I will ever have, “the right words.” My hope is that by sharing this story, I am taking a step to correct my mistakes and learn about how I can do better. (Nothing to be afraid of about doing a bit of deeper thinking about one’s self, or hoping that our community will join in and do a bit of deeper thinking too. Or so I tell myself.)
A few weeks ago I headed back to Omaha, Nebraska. I had left school for spring break and due to Covid, I have basically been living away ever since. I did not look forward to the seven hour drive, but I’ve done it so many times, I did feel comfortable. Against my parents’ good advice, I left at 4PM hoping to make it there before midnight. I have my favorite “gas stops” and restaurants so I figured everything would be fine.
The drive was going as planned until a bright light popped up on my dash: “low tire pressure.” No worries though, I was almost to my first stop (and last winter, Grandpa Joe taught me how to check and fill the air in my tires.) I stopped, got snacks and gas, and filled up the tire and was on my way. An hour later I made it to stop number two – (Chick-fil-A, of course. Yummm.)
I checked on my tire. Well, let’s just say, things were not looking too good. My tire was almost completely flat. And unfortunately, although I learned about “filling a tire with air,” I had not yet been given a lesson in how to actually “change a tire.”
It was getting dark and all the tire shops were closed. I called my parents, but truly there is not much tire changing assistance that can be given over the phone. So, I drove to a gas station hoping someone would be able to help me.
The gas station was not “full service.” The lady gave me a blank stare and said she had no idea how to change a tire. I felt really stupid for not knowing how either. As I contemplated getting a hotel room and waiting until morning, I looked around the gas station parking lot for someone who could possibly help me.
I saw a white man with a large jeep. And I saw a black man with a small run-down car. My gut reaction was to ask white man for help. Admittedly, it felt safer to ask the white man instead of the black man. I could justify that the white man had a nicer car, or looked like someone who knew more about cars… But I’m trying to be honest here.
The white man was very kind. He fidgeted here and there with the tire. He could not figure some things out so I called my dad who tried to instruct him over the phone. And after about thirty minutes, the man told me that I should just fill the tire with air and stop every 10 minutes to fill it again.
It became clear to me that this man, while very kind, also had not taken the lesson on “changing a tire.”
I was in the middle of Iowa, at night, with a bad tire. I started thinking about the hotel option again.
About that time, the black man (who earlier I had not chosen to ask for help) came over and asked if we needed help. He told me he had seen me struggling for the past hour. Then he mentioned that he was a roadside assistance worker.
From the back of his car, he pulled out a tool kit. He was friendly and polite. And he had the tire changed in less than 10 minutes. He carefully instructed me on how fast and how far it would be safe to drive on the spare tire (which was a miniature tire). And he told me where to go in Omaha the next morning. He gave me a business card, and told me that I would get a discount for saying that he had sent me.
Two hours later, I arrived in Omaha. As I pulled into my parking lot, I thought about the man who had changed my tire. I was safe because of him. And honestly, I had to admit that I was scared of him at first.
It was good to be home. But I had a pit in my stomach. I started thinking about George Floyd. And I thought about the black man who I avoided, but who had really become my savior that night. And I started thinking about my brother who will one day be a black man. And I started thinking about other people not knowing that Quinn is the gentlest, nicest kid in the world—and that when he grows up, he would be exactly the kind of person that a person would want their daughter to happen upon when they are in the middle of nowhere and their tire goes flat.
In this moment I realized it was time for me to make a change. I have grown up with a black child in my family. I have stood up for him on numerous occasions. I love him and he is my brother. And still, I have racism so deeply engrained in even myself that I judged another…
I know I will never be able to understand the difficulties black people in America will face. At the same time, I hope that I can continue to educate myself and correct myself. Respectfully, I encourage you all to do the same. The first step in fixing this problem is acknowledging that there is a problem. Let’s continue to be better together.
