I was playing “I’ll Rise When
the Roster Crows” on the banjo –
song from the minstrel shows.
A big black guy came up on my front porch,
and I met him in my shorts, barefoot. He said his name Terrel,
and said he wanted to do some yard work for twenty dollars to
collect for his basketball team.
Attractive, friendly face.
Robin disagreed, but I said sure,
but I wasn’t really sure
that it wasn’t a con – I asked him
about his team, and he said something with the word
“union” in it, traveling around the world, it seemed,
kind of like the Harlem Globetrotters.
I also wasn’t sure what he'd work on –
I’d mowed the lawn already yesterday.
Couldn’t see much else that needed doing, so I asked him to mow
the lawn front and back, and gave him
my pretty-OK manual push lawnmower.
Terrel took it, but he had a negotiation point – he’d meant
the front yard, it’d cost me another ten bucks
to have him do the back. We hit
on the agreement he’d mow the back for ten dollars.
He started, using repeated quick strokes with his strong arms
that really cut the grass – although he did leave one
unmown stripe. I sat up on my cedar porch and watched him,
feeling like a plantation owner drinking a toddy
while his slave boy labored for him – but Terrel and I did have
a financial arrangement – ten dollars for fifteen minutes work –
not bad. I could see he was taking pride in it.
When I suggested he could just walk the mower down the rows
and make the work faster, he said his method cut the grass better,
and he was right. When he was nearly finished he said,
“That looks pretty good,” and I had to agree.
I did have him mow the stripe he missed.
Then I took the mower and gave him a twenty out of guilt –
when clearly I should have had him mow the front yard too.
He had me put my number into his i-phone.
I thanked him when he went away,
feeling basically fine about the whole transaction,
but appalled by the bottomless ocean of racial apprehension and distrust
I felt in myself.
song from the minstrel shows.
A big black guy came up on my front porch,
and I met him in my shorts, barefoot. He said his name Terrel,
and said he wanted to do some yard work for twenty dollars to
collect for his basketball team.
Attractive, friendly face.
Robin disagreed, but I said sure,
but I wasn’t really sure
that it wasn’t a con – I asked him
about his team, and he said something with the word
“union” in it, traveling around the world, it seemed,
kind of like the Harlem Globetrotters.
I also wasn’t sure what he'd work on –
I’d mowed the lawn already yesterday.
Couldn’t see much else that needed doing, so I asked him to mow
the lawn front and back, and gave him
my pretty-OK manual push lawnmower.
Terrel took it, but he had a negotiation point – he’d meant
the front yard, it’d cost me another ten bucks
to have him do the back. We hit
on the agreement he’d mow the back for ten dollars.
He started, using repeated quick strokes with his strong arms
that really cut the grass – although he did leave one
unmown stripe. I sat up on my cedar porch and watched him,
feeling like a plantation owner drinking a toddy
while his slave boy labored for him – but Terrel and I did have
a financial arrangement – ten dollars for fifteen minutes work –
not bad. I could see he was taking pride in it.
When I suggested he could just walk the mower down the rows
and make the work faster, he said his method cut the grass better,
and he was right. When he was nearly finished he said,
“That looks pretty good,” and I had to agree.
I did have him mow the stripe he missed.
Then I took the mower and gave him a twenty out of guilt –
when clearly I should have had him mow the front yard too.
He had me put my number into his i-phone.
I thanked him when he went away,
feeling basically fine about the whole transaction,
but appalled by the bottomless ocean of racial apprehension and distrust
I felt in myself.
