In East Texas, near Louisiana, and far away from liberal Austin, and even farther away from chic Dallas, we have a skin color problem that will get people hurt or killed.
What prompted this first diary in DK4 is Barb's fp diary about olive skin.
Indeed.
Olive skin would be helpful on days where I have to travel with a loaded horse trailer to Tyler, Texas, with my farm worker, Buddy, an incredibly black skinned man. We discuss with our families, his and mine, who should drive, and where to stop for fuel or food. We choreograph conversations ahead of time so that it is absolutely clear to people in stores and restaurants that we are master/servant, and not a couple. He stays in the truck while I go in the stores. If we go into any business establishment, he calls me Mrs. _. I go in and buy what food I think he wants while he checks the air in the tires of my truck and trailer, in keeping with his station.
When we are on the highways, we are sneered at, sometimes followed too closely, and sometimes people passing cut in front of us really sharply.
I was advised not to advocate for Obama in my own hometown by the chairman of the Democratic Party because he felt it was dangerous.
Buddy and I do not do this song and dance for no reason. We do it for our safety.
When we get safely home, we celebrate we got the job done.
He has worked for me for over 20 years. He and I joke, in the safety of home, about the craziness going on in this world. His daughter, pre-teen, is a scholar, and I am trying to convince her to be my jr. law partner one day.
She, too, is incredibly black.
When will that not matter?