When I was about 11 years old, Brian, a black man who regularly had dinner in my father’s restaurant befriended me. He was a conductor for the NY subway transit system, as well as a landlord, and businessman owning a couple of brownstones in the changing, (1950’s) Williamsburg / Bed Sty section of Brooklyn. 

I was mesmerized by his intelligence, his sophistication and felt his angst and frustration at not being accepted outside his immediate world.  Even at a young age I recognized the disdain that his own neighbors had for his success, unintended lofty behavior, and well-deserved self-righteousness.

As I grew older I looked forward to his wisdom and friendship. Then one day he said to me I heard your family is moving out of Brooklyn to New Jersey. I said Oh yes with a great grin. 

He looked into my eyes and said; do you think I will ever be invited to your new home.

I didn’t have to ask what he meant; my heart broke as this cold truth stunned me to the core. I will never forget Brian and his burden of living a life in limbo. 

Sixty-Seven years later, various social triggers remind me of him, his friendship and his glass ceiling. 

This writing is dedicated to Brian. 

Look through your own light. 

I looked at brown faces and from a distance they all look the same to me. Then I meet brown people and start to discover what there is to see. 

I no longer see people who look alike to me. I look through my imposed curtain, and look deep into their hearts, and I find me. 

Why does it take so long to discover what we should see? Cultural blindness causes so much pain, misconceived behavior and out of focus sight.

We ask others to see for us and then complain about what they say they saw, even if they may be visually illiterate and can’t really see what should be seen. 

A bright young waitress I meet, full of dignity and charm drew me into her light, and I looked into it, to record what I should have seen so long ago. 

The next time, I went to the restaurant and expected her to brighten my space; I was taken aback when another waitress took her place. 

This beautiful brown girl with her charming West Indian accent and illuminating smile was so proud of where she was. When I spoke I dove into her eyes because I wanted to see all that I was missing, all that I could see. 

A successful, retired, executive I know with the manors and worldliness of a saint, I meet in a building where we mentor small businesses. A white maintenance man asked whom he was here to see. My heart sank, don’t you know he belongs in this place, can’t you see who he is. 

When this intrusive questioner saw my face he apologized to my acquaintance for what he thought he saw, because of me maybe he finally saw what he should have seen, or maybe it was my angry eyes that told him how to see. 

The wrong people tell us what we should see. Their eyes are blocked from humanity. We need to focus on the individual not the imposed, mass visual. Perceptions can be changed but first we must see what our hearts guide us to see.

Color is important, language is important, heritage is important, individuality is supremely important but knowing the value of what you see is the only righteous way to see. 

Stand up for what you see. Let your heart televise it through your lens. Don’t wait like me in my old age to word-up what you see.  

Look through your own light, focus your vision, and see for yourself, not what others want you to see. 

Mike Rosen 2.10.2021

Photo: pixels-Sharon-McCutcheon