God is just and the justifier of all things.  He will always have the last word.

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Today I find myself reminiscing about how much America has changed since the 1950's, and how much she stand to lose if hate mongers, racist and bigots are again allowed to set the tone of how this Country relates to people of different ethnicities than Caucasian/White.  As this election season has gotten underway, it is both bringing out the best  and worst in Americans and many who just live here.   What many people see as the past, and many Blacks keep sounding the alarm that it  is  alive and doing well now, has again reared its ugly head.  I speak of racism that I believe is seen from the Whitehouse to the suburbs and most rural areas of America.  Dung rolls down hill and not up hill.  Racism begins at the top and trickle down.  It is taught to generations by prior generations.  Denial will not change the fact that it exists.  It is time for "ALL" to  face the fact that racism exists in your own homes and families.  It  is  America's chance to remove her blinders, admit it, claim it and fix it.  I start with a childhood memory that occurred to me in the segregated South of Montgomery, Alabama, that caused me to smile and gives me reason to hope.  

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You Did Not Care that We Were Colored
  

As I sit reminiscing about you today, love, joy and wonderment fills my heart.  However, I must admit, that it was watching the violence committed against some Blacks, at some of Trump's 2016 rallies that has caused me to think of you.  It has been at least 60 years since I first and last saw your face.  I was shook even as a child to see a White man knocking at our door, for the only white man to knock at a colored person's door back then, was your insurance agent, a salesman, your employer or the police, all of whom knocked at that time.  The KKK did not knock; they kicked down doors, drug people out, lynched, beat, hung and burned them and their homes down.  So you can imagine a child age 3 to 5, answering the door and seeing a White man; you standing there.  You did not have on a suit or fancy clothing, but a white shirt, dark pants and a hat.  There was something in your eyes, mannerisms and tone of voice that was nonthreatening.  Your voice was gentle, unsure and questioning.  I do not know why you felt it acceptable to knock at the door of a family considered Colored or Negro, and who lived on Columbus Street in Montgomery, Alabama.  Back then what is now referred to as the ghetto or projects, were called Courts.  We lived in both Victor Tulane Court and Trennel Court.  I remember you asking for my mother of whom I turned to go get.  You asked her when she came to the door, if she had any food she could spare for your children.  No White person would ask a Negro back then for anything.  Instead they told you what to do, when to do it and it better be done or you were beat, jailed or killed.  Today, I ask myself if you had first gone to some White person's home seeking help and had been turned away, because it was clear that you were a blue collar White man.  Had you felt embarrassed to approached what you would call your own, because you did not want them to know that you were in need?  How many doors had you knocked on before coming to our door or was our door the first, because your hands were empty?  Only you know these answers and you may not even have told your wife and children of your heroic act.  It is possible that you are yet alive, because I am now 65, and at the time you were about 30 or less.  On that day, my mother Laura Nixon did not disappoint either, for when you asked her did she have some food so you could feed your children, she asked you their ages and gave you shoes, clothing and food for them.  I sit here today fighting back tears as I remember you on that day.  You thanked her, turned with hands now full and went on your way. 

 Even as a child I understood the racism and segregation in Montgomery, Alabama.  After all George Wallace was the governor and it was the 1950's.  It is strange, but I looked at you with pride even with my being so young.  You see I knew the importance of what you had done and you gained so much respect from me.  Mother never said a word about what she had done, but went back to the kitchen to finish cooking.  I remember that she did not just give you beans and rice, but she added meat and other articles.  I wondered if you was the dad of the White children we would skate with in Cramton Bowl's hilly parking lot of concrete.  As children we all played together although most of the White parents did not like it.  I wonder even now, how you are doing and if you are yet alive?  I wonder if you were embarrassed or felt shame on that day.  From my perspective, now as was then, you are a man to be proud of.  You so loved your family, that you sought out food and it did not matter the source.  I hope that your children know how special of a dad they had or have, and I hope that your life was or remain blessed.  I admire you, and feel joy in my heart yet for what you did.  This woman who was a child then, want to thank you today for a great lesson in what love will move a human being to do.  You persevered and did so with humility.   In an era of blatant racism, you was my bright and shinning star.  Today you came to mind, as many racist have again reared their ugly heads.  They have come out of their hiding places, and now the World can see what Blacks have always seen and known.  Racism, and not just Southern White racism, is alive and doing well here in AMERICA.  Whites and others laughed at us, and said that we did not know what we were talking about, since a "Black man" is President of the United States of America.  Yet this Congress fights everything this President attempt to do to help the American people.  Remove your blinders people.  Yet with all of this going on, God allowed me to remember you.  This memory reminded me that even White people know that when the chips are down, they can yet count on some Black person to come to their aid.  After all, many of their ancestors sucked at our ancestors' breast, and received love and care from them.  You are one of my unsung heroes, although I don't know your name.  You remembered and you received.  Thank you for giving me a good memory.   Cr. March 13, 2016.  Revised March 20, 2016.  Ms. Alice B. Nixon-Barr.  This work of love, which by the way, is a true story,  is not to be duplicated in any form, placed in a retrieval system or used in any medium without the written permission of the above named author.   

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