My friend Teddy was in town a few days ago. For those who don't know, Teddy's three-quarters African American, but is paler than the average Irish American. He and I were discussing Barack Obama's presidential candidacy.
"You know," he said. "He's not really black."
"What do you mean? Of course he is."
"Not like I am."
"Well that's obvious."
"No, I mean he's not descended from former slaves. His dad's from Kenya."
"Do you hear what you're saying?"
There was a knock at the door. It was our Chinese. I paid the man, and then laid our food out on the table.
"Beef and broccoli?"
"That's me." He pulled out his chopsticks and went to work. "I'm just saying, it's a different animal when you're born into centuries of oppression like me, as opposed to when you move here from outside the country."
"So Kenyan's have it way easier than a white dude like you?"
"I'm not white, I'm African American. How many times do I have to tell you?"
"All right, smarty pants, I got a scenario for you: you and he are driving separate cars, both Mercedes. Who do you think gets pulled over for being black?"
"Hey, I've been racially profiled before."
"You were doing 105 on the Mass Pike, you deserved to be arrested for that."
"That cop was a racist."
I shook my head and took another bite of my Peking duck.
"Turn on the TV," I said. "I think Cheaters is on."
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