The Danger of Stereotypes

I found myself at the beach, the place I always go to soothe my soul. My soul definitely needed some soothing this morning--I had just discovered my car had been broken into.

Nothing of value was taken really, except my happiness. Someone, probably teenagers, had broken in and tried to steal the vehicle. When they couldn't, they ransacked it, emptying the glove box and strewing its contents all over the front seats. CDs were all over the back seat and floor, but only a few were missing. They took the part of me that was like them—the part that enjoyed the same music.

The incident was the second time in less than a year that someone had invaded my space and taken something that belonged to me. The first time, they broke into my home and stole all of my electronics. I had managed to live my entire 45 years without experiencing something that some people in our society live in fear of every single day. I was shocked at the depth of my sadness over the incident and felt as though something far more important than my stereo had been stolen.

This time, however, I wasn't sad, I was angry. It came pouring out of me. I found myself thinking horrible thoughts about the person or persons who broke into my car. I was directing my anger toward a group of people unrelated in to the thugs who broke into my car, similar only in the color of their skin.

Since I live in a mostly black neighborhood, I assumed--without proof--that the perpetrators were black. But as I headed east from Richmond on Interstate 64, I refused to give in to the prejudicial thoughts crowding my mind. I needed the beach. Thankfully, I was going to stay with a friend who lived across the street from the ocean's shore.

So that's where I was on this early Saturday morning. I had been sitting on a dune watching the sun rise as the tide receded. As I meditated, I released the anger that had invaded me. I prayed and asked forgiveness for the darkness that had crowded my heart and mind. Peace returned once more to my soul.

I rose and headed back down the public access path that led from a convenience store. He was standing on the landing of the wooden steps ahead of me--a black man of undeterminable age, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, and a black nylon do-rag.

Peace was in my heart, soul, and mind. I smiled as I approached him. He smiled back and said, "Good morning." When I greeted him the same way, he asked if I had been meditating.

I answered that I had, and he nodded. We began a conversation that lasted nearly an hour and reminded me once more of the importance of an open mind.

When I first saw him, I thought he was probably in his mid to late 20's, and my brain began to try to quantify him. Without effort, without cause, I jumped to conclusions that were far from the reality of who this person was.

Continued on page 2: Finding our common humanity... »