2.27.00 - 22:41:03
Well, I didn't get to see Louis Farrakhan speak at the United Center today. We waited too long to get the tickets. When Hula called TicketMaster this morning, there was ONE TICKET LEFT. Since he's been listening to Farrakhan for years, it only made sense that he would get to go.
Because the ticket was purchased in my name, however, I had to go pick it up at the "Will Call" window which was located behind the VIP entrance. There were hundreds of people I had to push through to get there. Of course, I looked very out of place.
When I asked a well-dressed man with a walkie talkie exactly where to pick up tickets, he looked me over and said, "You have tickets?" I told him that yes, I had a ticket and it was waiting for me at the window. He responded with "Tickets to TODAY'S scheduled event?" I replied, "YES, tickets to TODAY'S scheduled event." I really wanted to say, "Yeah, I'm here to see Hootie and the Blowfish," but I didn't want to be removed from the premises.
So today I had a little taste of what it feels like to be a minority. A ten minute taste that I simply walked away from can forget about if I like. I've had experiences like this on and off since I first moved to New Orleans and again in Chicago. They always leave me knowing that no matter how hard I try to imagine it, I'll never ever know what it's like to be black and that no matter how much I wish the differences didn't exist, they do.
That I don't want that barrier doesn't matter and there's nothing I can do about it. A few years ago, I conceived of a place where some of the wounds might be healed. Where maybe this strong desire I have to change things might not be all for naught. In hindsight, it sounds presumptuous and not a little pretentious. But I keep coming back to it. It's not going away.
