As I was walking out the double doors of the gym that I frequent on the daily basis, with my IPod hanging around my neck and the accompanying white headphones plugged in my ears, I wasn’t paying much attention to who was walking in front, behind, or beside me as per the usual I was listening to music. I was so caught up in the rhythm of the song that I almost didn’t hear a forty something year old white man, who was in front of me, yell something in my direction. However, the hesitant smile that slowly emerged on his face made me press pause on my Shuffle and pay him close attention.
You see, he yelled “Obama!” with a smile that was becoming a grin. He had such a light in his eyes — a light that I recognize, but one that I’ve mostly found in the eyes of my fellow African-Americans. As most see it as ‘our’ victory and we recognize and acknowledge each other with a smile that most would think was for no reason. Or most would assume that we’re smiling at someone we already know — and in a way we are. (Well, most of us are, anyway.)
The nearing-middle age white man followed his shout of “Obama” with a question that was more of statement, as he correctly assumed that he knew the answer. “Let me guess, you were for Obama, right? I was too!” he said with enthusiasm. His excitement was contagious, and I began to glow under his light. My initial defensive reaction to a white man yelling something, which at first sound seemed incoherent, faded and was replaced with growing interest.
You see, I live in Pennsylvania — Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to be more precise. And although this state recently changed its color from Red to Blue, the area in which my gym is located is predominantly White. (The area is filled with upper middle class residents — doctors, lawyers, and even a few professional athletes take residence.) Rarely do I find myself in conversation with members of this gym, unless it is another African-American female who is happy to see another African-American female in membership. (I am usually one of few, which is normal for me.) The only communication that exists between me and the dominant presence is when someone wants to know if I am done or about to use equipment. So, it is no surprise that I found myself surprised by this turn of events.
This man and I continue out the doors and stand in the parking lot together as he continues to share his thoughts on Obama winning the election. “This is great!” he says almost shouting. “It’s like a whole new America now!” and he smiles, this time without hesitation. I stare for a moment, and then nod slowly and announce my agreement, “Yes, it is.” He walks toward his car as I slowly turn to walk toward mine. I stop and smile and say, “Enjoy the rest of your day.” He smiles at me and says, “Thank you! You too.” I open my car door and take my seat at the wheel, thoughts running as fast as the engine, as I grab my BlackBerry to text a friend the story. I ended the story with “Funny.”
Why “funny”? Because as much as I would like to think of this as a simple encounter, it begs the question: Is this simply a white man engaging a black woman in conversation, or is this the result of what I like to call “The Obama Effect?” You decide. I’ve made my decision.
