Listen, yesterday started out annoying and frustrating for me.
Watching all these Black people walk past my table and frown at the title of my book (Black History Facts You Didn’t Learn in School) was disheartening and sad.
It wasn’t about the money. It never is. It was about the sheer audacity of people to be offended.
I wanted to run to the bathroom and burst into tears at the arrogance of a people with no interest in their own history. There was even an interracial couple who walked by, him Black, her white.
Chile, do you know this man looked at his white friend/wife/woman and asked if she wanted the book while laughing as they walked on?
Trifling does not even begin to describe the moment.
But then…
There was an older Black man. He walked by my table and dropped a crinkled 20, whispering, “Keep doing what you are doing.”
You have to understand how he did it.
In African American families, elders (grandma’s, grandpa’s, aunts, uncles, etc.) will hug you and whisper in your ear, “How you?” While slipping cash into the palm of your hand.
There is no conversation about it and they are not interested in your explanations. It is simply an act of love wrapped tight in spiritual discernment. You need this even if you don’t think you do.
You could be struggling with bills.
You could be frustrated.
You could be facing any unforeseen tragedy, and this person who has lived long enough to know what love looks like in the flesh slips you with just enough money to cover whatever was bothering you.
Now, I was not in a financial catastrophe but a spiritual one. An emotional one. One that almost made me pack up my things and walk out the door.
There is something about not being appreciated that sends me boiling.
My tolerance is zero.
But then, here comes an angel, dressed casually, with a brimmed hat and gray beard wrapped in golden black skin.
He drops a 20 on my table like it was the sweaty palm of my hand and whispered words of confidence into my spirit without losing stride. He spoke while walking, always keeping sight of his mission.
This man’s simple act gave me everything I needed to keep going.
People took notice, stopping at my table suddenly, almost like they had been commanded to.
There is no moral to this story that you have not already read.
The PBS Blog 