What Happened Next

So I went to Peoria to visit my brother and his family. Peoria.

(It might be useful here to read the “One Version of a Family” post dated Wednesday, April 19^th. It’ll fill in the blanks.)

We grew up as city kids. I stayed that way, moving from city to city. He gave it up, moving from city life to the middle of nowhere, which, loosely defined, is Peoria.

The travel wasn’t so bad. I do so enjoy getting out of my warm and cozy bed at 2 A.M in order to start my traveling day. The drive to the airport was insignificant, made up for by the more than significant lines at the ticket counter and security checkpoints. But I’m a well-seasoned traveler, and had a book to read and little carry-on luggage, so I experienced no personal delays. You asked whether or not I saw any racial profiling during this journey – I was completely unaware of any. You see, there were no (NO – as in zero) people of color at my airport. None. When I arrived in Detroit, I saw one or two people with skin darker than my own, but I was rushing from gate to gate, so have no idea how they fared. And of course no one of any color other than pale pinkish white was going to Peoria.

Neither of my nephews recognized me when I came in the door. The eldest is 12 and hadn’t seen me since he was 5, and the youngest is 8, so can’t be expected to remember me from his 1^st birthday. My beloved niece is older, the product of an earlier marriage. She’s the reason I acquiesced and traveled to Peoria – I adore her, and hate that I live so far away from her. She’s nearly an adult now, tall, strong and beautiful.

For a while, we were all on good behavior, but eventually everyone settled down into standard patterns. My brother and I easily revert to tweaking reactions from one another, but it’s relatively benign. No one broke a chair over anyone’s head this time. There wasn’t even much tension when I explained to him that it would be broader minded of him to at least acknowledge other points of view different from his own. (This was a discussion on how religion has changed his life. Not that I don’t accept the fact that it’s *possible* that his god helps him out when he needs extra strength to turn a stuck oil filter, but I would like him to acknowledge the possibility that it’s a fluke. This is, perhaps, just me poking at him to see what happens. I am a brat.) I even found the strength to walk away when he tossed out bigotted salvos about homosexuals and racial minorities, allowing myself only the briefest of disdainful glances as I shook my head in disgust. I understand that he doesn’t believe his own words, but is just trying to poke at me until my head spins off. But since I still had several days of my visit left, I tried to keep my spinning to a minimum and to spread it out over the several days I was there. If I don’t spin, he will (probably) stop trying to get me to. Perhaps. It’s an old game. He tweaks me, I tweak him. There’s continuity, familiarity and safety in old patterns.

The kids and I watched videos of Shrek and Dr. Doolittle. Video games and cap guns are everywhere. I suppose this should be disturbing to me since I haven’t owned a television in many years, and have spent my life with my nose stuck in some book or other. But the simple truth is that they all seem to love each other. Affection abounds. You just can’t get around it. The kids and the grownups actually seem to like one another, and love is in the air. Even the golden retriever smiles. Very Norman Rockwell America.

Of course, Norman Rockwell only painted heterosexual white people.