I was driving one morning on Kamehameha Highway in Aiea when I stopped my car for a young black fellow waiting at a crosswalk that has a reputation for being dangerous. Drivers always seem to be speeding, and there is no traffic signal. Crossing is perilous, and when I see people rush across the street, it reminds me of the Planet Earth film clips of African wildebeest dashing crazily across a crocodile-infested river.
So, I skidded to a stop. He started to cross, then he hesitated, turned in my direction and began to approach my car. He was a large, broad-shouldered fellow, and it seemed like a safe assumption that he was living outdoors and without the benefit of a comfy, fur-lined Lands End tent.
“This might not have a good ending,” I thought, and I began flipping through my mental Rolodex, searching for excuses as to why I could not give him any money. He was not blocking the car, so I had the option of speeding away, but I decided to see where this was heading. I am sometimes stupid that way.
Then, when he was within ten feet of my car, the unexpected occurred. As though a switch had been flicked, his face erupted into a large welcoming smile. It was a good smile.
He reached my car, thrust his head through the open window, and with a big, toothy grin and a loud, excited voice, he said, “Man . . . I love this place! I came here just two weeks ago from Mississippi, and I can tell you honestly that there ain’t no white man in all of Mississippi who will stop his car to let a black fella cross the street.”
With that, he turned and walked away with one last exuberant exclamation of “I love this place!” He finished crossing the street, and when he reached the far end, it was as though he had stepped into another universe, as I never saw him again.
But I haven’t forgotten him. I was laughing as I drove away. His unexpected, refreshing gesture of thanks was a wonderful intermission in an otherwise humdrum day.
As I went down the road, I realized there was a lesson to be gained from this. Many of us are enmeshed in life’s arena, focused on putting one foot in front of the other, fighting horrendous rush hour traffic, picking up the kids, buying our milk and eggs and rice, and barely keeping a foot or two ahead of the bill collector. It can become far too easy to forget the importance of the small deeds we all can do to show that goodness still lingers on our little island. Sometimes, the smallest act of kindness, such as this fellow’s spontaneous gesture of thanks, is all it takes to brighten someone’s day and perhaps ease the appalling burdens many of us are trying hard to shoulder, particularly during these times of uneasiness, economic hardship and social distancing.
So, as we go about our hectic days, if we can still make it a habit to sometimes step out of the crosswalk and acknowledge others with a kind word or a helpful gesture, we just might leave someone else saying, “Man . . . I love this place!”
And I know that if he ever returns to Mississippi, he won’t need to lean into a car window and say, “I just came from Hawaii, and there ain’t no white man in all of Hawaii who will stop his car to let a black fella cross the street.” Because I did. And I’d like to believe most of us on this beautiful island would do the same.
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(I'd like to avoid hard feelings, so let me add that, although I have never been to Mississippi, I bet there are probably many white men who do stop their cars for black people.)
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