And then there was Dave.

It’s not his real name, but it’ll have to do for the purposes of telling my story, a story that needs to be shared.  I also don’t want to use his real name because I don’t want to embarrass him, and more to the point, his family.  Because, Dave is no different than a lot of other Dave’s out there, so why single him out, right?

You see, Dave is a racist.  Not even a little bit of one, but rather a racist with a paid-up-in-full membership to AOA, or Assholes of America, a subsidiary of ROA, or Racists of America, a family-oriented group complete with chat lines where you can spend time dumping on those goddamned immigrants you saw at Walmart earlier in the day, when you stopped in after church, the place you pretended to be a Christian for reasons unknown.

Dude, if there’s a God, he already knows you’re a racist, so you might just as well carve an extra hour for yourself on Sunday mornings rather than go to all the work of showing up and be a hypocrite.  But then again, you don’t go to church for God, do you?  For you, it’s mostly about the appearances you put in so that other folks think you’re a great guy.  And after all, it’s not like you’re the only racist sitting in church on a Sunday morning, right?  For heaven’s sake, the place is full of them.  Go ahead.  Tell me it’s not.

It’s like we’re going to need Jesus to come down and throw one of those money-lender freak-outs to reclaim his Father’s house from the imposters who take up space within it.  No doubt I’ll get all caught up in the mayhem, but hey, I went to Confession just a little over a week ago, so how much sin could I have possibly accumulated?

However much sin I’m burdened with, I’m not a racist.

Continue reading “SMALL TOWN RACISM” →