QUOTE : A young black man, who I think was a summer intern, approached me in the lobby. Without saying so much as “Excuse me,” he sat down next to me in a huff and growled, “Why do black women get so mad when they see us walking down the street with a white girl?” I slowly turned toward this handsome, ebony boy and said, “Do you really want to know the answer to that question?” He said, “Yeah, I really want to know. I get sick of that shit.” I said, “Well, it might have something to do with this. For decades, black men were lynched, often for allegedly looking at a white woman. Our mothers’ mothers cut the black bodies of their sons and husbands down from the trees. But we black women did something we didn’t have to do before we buried them. First, we washed their bodies.” I let my words sink in and continued. “So, little boy, when you see a black woman walking down the street, you tilt your hat and acknowledge her existence. If only for the fact that first, we washed you. And next time you sit down next to me, you say, ‘Excuse me, Miss Lewis.’ Now get the fuck on where you’re going. I’m studying Brecht, little boy.