I know what a white man who calls black men “boy” looks like when I see him.
He looks like the man flying a full-sized Old Glory and Trump/Pence flag from the bed of his Ford pickup who thought it appropriate to harass me, before harassing another solo black woman on St. Pete’s narrow 28th St.
I’m sure white men and other patriarchy-loving types who rely on facts to prove feelings exist will try to minimize that, but I stand by my assertion.
There are some places black folks should stay away from, because in the words of my good friend Domonic Smith, “That’s where they call ya ‘boy’.” When I saw this man, I knew that wherever he is is the type of place I try to avoid.
Once upon a lifetime ago, I played basketball and I often played against men. Being a 5’3” female, not one of them was ever intimidated by me before our initial game. Knowing they were underestimating me, I just looked at them smugly like, “Yeah, bitch. Laugh now.”
That was the same look of that white man in his pickup.
That’s a dangerous look, the way you look at prey.
That was the look of a man who felt like the game is his to win, now. The kind of man I’m positive misses the days when he could call a black man “boy” to keep him in his place.
Those are the days that will make him feel great again. Those are the days we’re already de-evolving back to.