When you decide to start a group at the bar you own promoting education and involvement in social issues and invite the local Black Lives Matter chapter, feeling perhaps a certain responsibility as a white man to your black wife and the daughter you both share, and also a responsibility to educate your white friends, acquaintances, and bar patrons—perhaps even some lingering feeling as an ex-convict yourself has led to a certain empathy for the plight of the black man in the American penal system—so you start inviting them to come out and contribute at these meetings. One of your patrons, a white woman in her mid-sixties, says during the meeting that she feels uninformed on the topic and would like clarification, and the head of the BLM chapter tells her to hit that Google and come back at him, don’t bring that safe space opinion in here, and you break in and ask him why he’s got to be that way, she’s only trying to understand, and he tells you to stop trying to bring up a bunch of Uncle Toms, and you don’t really know what that means so you tell him he shouldn’t talk to a lady and an elder like that, and he tells you to stop being so hetero/cis-normative, and by now you have no idea what this young man is saying, and you feel old and stupid in front of your college daughter, who then spends the rest of the week defending you on social media, where the local BLM and Police Scanner movements have encouraged their members to boycott your bar due to its racist owner. You want, more than anything, to hide and watch the Cubs, and you regret already your decision to join Facebook a month ago.

What are the Sneaky Feels?

AuthorJohn Proctor