The Color of Fear

 
Today, actually yesterday (I have not yet slept) , my buddy and I made a pilgrimage of sorts to Wilmington, Delaware, to the former house of Reggae legend Bob Marley--when he lived in the States, worked for DuPont, and a Chrysler Assembly plant. No fooling. This is me sitting on the steps of the home. I enhanced the photo with a PhotoShop sunburst. I had no idea the picture would turn out so cool. Marley's cousin still lives in the home. We chatted with her briefly, even a little about Frankenstorm.
 
It is fair to say the house is in the 'hood. Not a whole lot of white boys around walking their Labradoodles, let us put it that way. Although not the inner city, the block looked like it has its share of issues. A neighbor pulled up in 65K Bentley, not something that one can get working at K-Mart. Ironically, it had a handicapped parking tag on it. Drug dealing most likely. Or some activity generating significant amount of Benjamins.
 
My buddy wanted to walk the area. I started to get the whitey jitters. I am OK in neighborhoods that I know, I even embrace being the minority. But I get a little nervous when I don't know who I am dealing with. My fear was totally unfounded. Nobody gave us two white boys a foul look. A couple of residents did look kind of amused that we were walking around. Maybe we were the only two Caucasoids strolling through since the Mormons swung by in '99.
 
I am not sure of what I was scared of...not being in control? Losing my cash and credit cards? What we worry about often shows our idol index. I dig safety. I am glad I went because I am not sure I would have seen the color of fear in my heart otherwise.  Suburbia safety keeps such fears under the lid and simmering. It is not a bad thing to turn up the heat and see what is cooking inside.   
 
   

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