Two Grandsons

We’re friends, so dialogue comes easily.

As we sat enjoying dinner in the quiet dining room, the conversation flowed without pause..

We are both aware we see the political scene through different colored lenses.

It has never been a problem, and neither one of us ever anticipate that becoming a reality.

Yet, on this moonlit night on the fringe of springtime, we came close.

Because of the different colored lenses we now wear. we suddenly view the world differently.

The conversation began to touch on family, and quickly zeroed in on two beloved young adult grandsons, hers and mine.

My friend answering my inquiry about her oldest grandchild, abruptly added another sentence.

“He’s lucky he’s not black.”

I reacted quickly, also without thinking, and replied,

“Mine is lucky, he’s not a white policeman.”

Then we both stopped and stared across the table at each other.

We each had made a valid point.

We both realized we had an ocean of division to cross.

And neither one of us knew quite how that would happen, not only at our dinner table, but in our divided country.