Tribune reporter Mary Schmich recently wrote about the use of racially charged words in music played in stores and restaurants. As a child, my sister and I called the local neighborhood bullies the ugly N-word. My father heard us and was NOT happy. I’ve never used that word since and it upsets me when I hear it, no matter from whom.
Unfortunately, I’ve been called the word, but I make a point to ignore the ignorant souls. Last month I was stunned to hear it not at me, but around me. On our last evening at a large resort, the man in front of me on our tram yelled to his friends behind me, to “stick their ….gers out” so he could get their picture. The friends questioned what he meant and as his wife started to explain, he repeated it.
I said nothing in response, preferring to get off the tram and walk the mile rather than be near him, and disappointed that my pleasant vacation was ending on a sour note.
Later that evening, the same man and his friend approached us in the lobby and apologized profusely – his friend and wife had pointed out to him that he had belted out a word that thoroughly rhymed with the offensive term. I suspect a little alcohol slurred his enunciation. He was mortified that I had been hurt and I forgave him. He shook Roger’s hand and I accepted his quick hug. We all left that encounter feeling far better, and both grateful to heal a misunderstanding. And I was relieved that I had not given vent to my shock in the heat of the moment.
Now, if hip-hop artists could clean up their act and stores would not broadcast uncensored music, I could go back into coffee shops.
