Opinion

When I turn 107, I’ll be a happy minority citizen

Columnist Bill Hall.
Columnist Bill Hall.

Some people in this country are called minorities. But hang on to your sombrero. By 2043, we of the lighter skin in America will move into minority status.

Maybe, when the time comes, peoples in the new minority (us) will learn a more civilized way of getting along with the new, darker majority. Some of the clods on my side of the new division are about to learn what it’s like to be on the losing end. I hope we won’t have to sit in the back of the bus.

Sad to say, many of my kind have been a little slow to learn their social manners over the decades. Some of us will cheer when the new majority goes to the front. Unfortunately, I may not be around to join the party. Oh, I would like to join it, especially if I get a chance to congratulate the winners.

I’m not afraid to welcome the new majority for two reasons: because I may be too gone-gone-gone to go to the new majority, and because several of those dominant little mixed rascals are my grandchildren who are not 100 percent white.

I suppose it’s unlikely that a geezer of my 107 years will be ready to party in 2043 — but try me.

Sharon and I may be there, although most of the bossy grown grandchildren can be a mixed blessing. They are always telling us to be careful not to eat too much or dance too much.

I know they care. But I’m not too happy to learn that some of the older ones have joined the Republicans and the Democrats. I’m not sure which of them is more half-baked.

Meanwhile, the new majority of the American people will have their disappointments. Few of the original whites and the original browns and tans and blacks and etceteras are left.

It’s just like horses, dogs, roses and humans of many hues. We could all stand to pick up a few improvements, especially on this tiresome blizzard of white skin. It will be time to let the populace from the new majority have their turn at the tiller.

Personally, what I love most about these newly mingled ways is our Thanksgiving dinner table with all the little rascals in all the family colors.

When I was a child and most families tended to be from one-color sources, I could still see all the whites seated all along the table. As the years rolled by, different faces of tanner hues joined our family feasts.

Then one Thanksgiving, we lost a granny. She just disappeared and was replaced by three new toddlers, not to mention a cool collie.

The grandmother who left us (my mother) haunted me for several years, especially those first few years when I would forget she had gone on her way. I would be walking across a department store. I would be lost in thought and suddenly see what looked like our missing granny.

I would lose sight of her in the crowd and she would fade away.

Next, I did the same thing with an old friend of ours who traveled the streets of our city by bicycle and then died of tobacco.

If possible, I would catch up with him and he would fade away once more, a spirit on a bike.

When my time comes and you see some sort of familiar person reading a newspaper in a coffee shop, keep an eye out. Whoever I was, if you see me, why not be friendly?

Maybe my long shadow and I will do the same in return.

Bill Hall may be contacted at wilberth@cableone.net or at 1012 Prospect Ave., Lewiston, ID 83501

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