Not Your Friend

Everybody Isn’t Your Friend

I was walking my dog down the street one day not long ago and we passed someone who was walking too. She didn’t speak to me, or really even acknowledge me but Lola was trying to get close to her and I pulled her back, saying, “Lola, stop, Everybody isn’t your friend,” and we kept walking.

A few steps later, the woman caught up with me and asked, “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?” I asked.

“That everybody isn’t your friend. Why would you tell your dog that?”

“Because everybody isn’t and the sooner she figures that out, the longer she will live.”

The woman’s face was red, “That’s a terrible thing to teach her!”

“It will save her life,” I retorted, “she won’t approach someone who could do her harm.”

I walked away from her.

There was a lot more that I wanted to say but I knew better. That woman wasn’t ready to hear the truth.

I am the only black person who lives on my street on my end of town. I am living in a little redneck town in North Florida. I’ve lived here before so I know how it is.

The people who are nice are really great. They are thoughtful and sweet and kind and will do anything for you. I love this place for that. I have had people reach out to me and show me incredible kindness that I will never forget.

But I have also seen people glowering at me when they saw me walking. One called the police reporting someone suspicious but luckily, the chief of police is a neighbor and he knew who I was and he told her to calm down.

I have seen the Confederate flags flying and I have seen the people who really hated the fact I was married to a white man who happens to be Jewish. I know where I stand here.

I hadn’t thought much about that phrase for a while, but I remember that my mother told me that when I was small.

“Everybody isn’t your friend, Brenda. Don’t talk so much. Don’t talk to people you don’t know,” she said.

When I was 5 or so, I was a little chatterbox and I talked to anyone and everyone who would indulge me. Mama was afraid something would happen to me and she gave me that warning several times in my life.

When we moved from Chicago to the town where I grew up, she reminded me again. I had learned that one already.

Mom had had my ears pierced when I was 6 or so and when we moved, I was the only little girl on the playground with pierced ears. I had been wearing a pair of gold hoops for years and never thought about it. I also was wearing thick glasses because I am severely nearsighted.

I was standing in the schoolyard one day when a couple of little black girls approached me. They started asking me questions and it was clear they weren’t being friendly. I was still trying to make friends and fit in but these girls were clearly hostile to me. They made fun of my glasses and my earrings and the way I spoke. I finally blew up and slapped one of them so hard her lip bled. They left me alone.

I knew then for sure that everybody wasn’t my friend. And I knew it wasn’t always a racial thing. Sometimes it’s just rude and stupid people. Sometimes it’s jealous, insecure people. And sometimes it’s just people who are downright mean.

But many times, it is racial. I know very well I have crossed paths with people who looked at me and wanted to hang me, burn me, beat me or drag me behind their car or truck, just because I am black. I know they hated that I am articulate, that I am smart and that I am attractive. It’s not what they believe I should be and they hate me for it.

I go where I want to go and I say what I want to say. I have never let anyone dictate the way I should live or what I should do. But still, I have always been cautious with people.

I rarely speak to people unless they speak to me first. I wait to see their reaction to me before I react to them. I know I stand back and watch people first and that while I may appear aloof and distant, I am really reserved and cautious.

I’m not walking up to someone with a smile so they can call me the N-word. I’m not going to give them the chance to insult or denigrate me at least to my face. I keep my distance and I wait till I think it’s safe.

I’m that way with men too. I am probably even more cautious with men than most of them like. I don’t want a man knowing where I live or what my phone number is until I want him to.

When I talk to men online, I have a set routine of how I want it to go. Many don’t like it and I don’t care. I am taking care of myself. If he sends me a message and I think I might like to talk to him, I respond. If that works, I will give him my email address and we can either exchange emails or we can chat online. If I still feel all right with him, I will then give him my number so that he can call me. And I mean it just like that, so he can call me.

If we still feel like it’s right, then and only then we can start to plan on when we can meet face to face. That can happen in a week, maybe 2 but often it takes longer. I have met too many men who instantly want to call me or text me.

What happens if we don’t hit it off or if I don’t like him as much as he likes me? He can call me or text me when I don’t want him to. I don’t want that so I am careful about how I proceed with that. I don’t want to meet him right away. I want to feel him out so I can see where his head is. He should feel the same way. We both should be careful we don’t get involved with someone who is dangerous or unbalanced.

I’m just as careful meeting someone face to face. I don’t want to pretend I like him or want to be with him because I am afraid of him. I know a lot of men can’t stand to be rejected and will turn mean and violent so I keep a wide berth. I rarely meet anyone eyes when I am walking down the street. I know that some men totally misinterpret friendliness for flirtation and I don’t want to go there.

So don’t bother telling me to smile when you see me. I am not going to smile unless I want to. I don’t want you all in my face unless I invite you there.

So maybe I am too careful. It could very well be. I don’t doubt it. I am sure I have offended people by being that way. But I know I have remained alive and safe because of it.

So no, everybody isn’t my friend. If you don’t like that, I am sorry.

 Just imagine if Emmitt Till had known that.

What about those girls that Ted Bundy lured into his car?

Or those boys that John Wayne Gacy killed?

I’m glad my mother taught me that. I’m sorry that most black mothers have to teach their children to be cautious like that.

I’m sorry that women don’t realize that they have to be more cautious with men.

I’m sorry that we have to teach children not to talk to strangers and not to trust people they don’t know.

We live in a world full of hate and anger and danger. We need to be more afraid of the people we meet. Realizing that everyone isn’t your friend can keep you safe.

What’s wrong with that?