Recently, at my uncle’s wake in Queens, my Dad, my husband and I stood talking to a friend of the family. He was a talker...no one could get a word in edgewise...going on and on about the old days. My dad held a bible with a picture of Jesus on the cover, given to him by the union representative. As we stood talking – or barely listening, nodding politely, out of the blue this man turns to my husband and asks, "Are you a racist?". Hubby, stunned, says "no". Man says, "Well, I am. I hate the bastards." Dad laughs uncomfortably. I point out – gesturing to bible - that brown skinned Jesus would not be amused. Later, hubby and I shake our heads over the audacity of it. And regret that we didn’t deal with it more forcefully.
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