I ended up in the Albertsons’ market this weekend, after trying to find something "patriotic" for my nephew (the cocker spaniel next door) to wear. Being agitated at being in a grocery store " to begin with (read: "Webvan Closes"), I opted to buy a few staples to hold us through the weekend; a ½ gallon of scotch, a few liters of club soda, some bran muffins, some 3-seed bread (for Sadie), a magazine detailing the September 11, 2001 terrorist activity and some coffee filters.

There was a Hindi couple and their 5 year old son, cautiously walking up one aisle and down the other. They proudly wore little red-white-blue ribbons on their clothes, but they were so afraid, of me, of the guy with the shaved head and the jean vest (no shirt), the checkers, the workers, everyone. Their fear was heartbreaking to watch. At one point, their little boy stopped walking with them, when his eye caught the little Hot Wheel display. Toys. Toys with wheels. This little boy who just a moment earlier, had been an obedient, quiet, son – was now a little boy scooting the cars around the tiled squares, making "screeching car sounds" not heard since the 70’s cop shows craze…. For about 2 minutes, this little boy was happy, being a kid. Just then, his parents realized he was out of eyesight and shouted his name as they came back around the aisle. He dropped his cars, he dropped his head, he realized that he couldn’t play anymore and that games were not on today’s agenda. He got up quickly and scrambled to walk behind them. They resumed darting their eyes around the store for hidden dangers, real or imagined. G*d, it was so sad, to see people being so afraid, especially in a place that for the months or years that they had lived, worked, shopped and worshipped – to now, suddenly be seen as hostile territory.

That little family stuck in my mind as I saw people buying up tee-shirts with the American flag emblazoned on the fronts and backs, flags, cardboard license plates, little flags, cakes decorated with flags, banners….. The tabloid displays had all of the pictures of the World Trade Center towers on fire, or with one tower smoldering and the other tower being raped by the second jet.

"I THINK WE SHOULD NUKE THEIR WHOLE F*CKIN’ COUNTRY!", was one comment heard loud and clear from register #2, the skinhead who had the jean vest with no shirt. "YEA! BUD, I HEAR YA – F*CKIN’ TOWEL-HEADS…", came from a guy dressed like he stepped out of a country & western bar who was agreeing with a skinhead. Something was just not right here. I nervously looked around for the Hindi family… had they heard the hateful remarks? What was going to happen? I wasn’t scared of a jet plowing into the store, or of Anthrax – I was afraid of a bunch of wound up, nervous folks who would decide to take the atrocities against democracy into their own hands. I was afraid of a mob. I was afraid I’d get hit in the crossfire…

I was afraid of being an American who would be caught in violence.

I decided to buy more liquor, my answer to everything. So I left the front of the store moving back towards the liquor section, where I would have to pass the toys, with the Hot Wheels display… Three little girls came giggling around the corner. They couldn’t have been older than seven or eight years old, but they were giggling and whispering and holding hands as they rounded the doughnuts display and headed to the toys. The "girly" toys and makeup…

Three little girls with that little girl shape. Strong muscular little thighs, little butts, sway backs, no breasts. Wearing little Britney Spears tops, cropped spandex pants in shades of pink, turquoise, and one of the girls dressed in black and white. Their hair was worn the same way, two pigtails, held in place with little Powder Puff Girl clips. Cute little girls, playing with makeup and talking about "this boy" or "that boy" in their class, or what would Xena (the Warrior Princess) wear with her "chest thingie" – I think they meant breastplate, or worrying that Buffy the Vampire Slayer was really dead…. You had to smile and laugh at how cute and happy they were, and that things like skin color, or religion, or language wasn’t important – the fact that purple lip-gloss is gross with a pink top is important but not your color, not where you came from.

Three little girls, done playing, going to pick out some candy, and once again holding hands as they moved down the aisle. The little Caucasian girl, the little Hispanic girl and the little African American girl… giggling down aisle #4.

Profound.

Wednesday July 11, 2007 06:59:56 PM -0500