I'm a Baby Girl!

Two nights ago, having been delayed until the evening rush hour and not wanting to join the line of ants with headlights crawling along I-26, I spent my second night in the City of Columbia, SC, at yet another WalMart. In the morning I took my usual walk around the parking lot. I try to walk a mile or two wherever I am and a WalMart parking lot is the perfect place if you get out early in the day. I always do some stretches when I'm finished, and since I like to lean on something while stretching my leg muscles, I often assume a position at the front of the motorhome with hands on the hood, head down and one leg extended behind me. I probably look as if I were trying to push the vehicle backwards. I also do some Tai Chi moves that I learned in a class for seniors, to help me retain good balance and leg strength.

Yesterday morning, as I was "pushing the motorhome," I heard a distinctly African American male voice call from a passing car, "Hey, Baby Girl, are you okay?" Since I began doing this very public exercise routine, I had expected that someone might ask if I were having trouble with the vehicle; I hadn't anticipated that my head-down posture, gray hair falling over my face, might be mistaken for a different kind of trouble. I looked up and barely got, "Yeah," out of my mouth when my would-be rescuer rolled up the window and continued on his way. As I recall the incident now, I wonder what he would have done if I'd said "no" instead.

I'm trying not to make it significant that the man was black, but upon further reflection it seems to me that, in general, African Americans tend to be more respectful of their matriarchs than the majority white population. The same might be said of Latinos, Asians and Native Americans. If you follow this line of thought to its logical conclusion, the fact that the "majority" is predicted to become the "minority" in the U.S. by 2042 leads to the possibility that if I live that long I could become revered rather than ignored; that is, if the new majority has anything to teach the rest, and if they have not become too Americanized along the way. Of course, I'll be 95 by then so it's not likely that I'll care.

Here are some photos of Sesquicentennial State Park in Columbia, where I saw my first live oak grove and my first fire ants. I'm definitely in the deep south now!