Yes, I’m a white man, but I don’t have a target on my back

I must admit, I was surprised by the reaction to my column last week.

As you may recall, I wrote about my encounter with some teens downtown as I was leaving work on a Friday night. They threw lemonade on me and ran, and when I got in my car and drove to the exit of the parking deck, I saw them hiding near the gate, which I was going to have to unlock if I wanted to leave for the night.

To make a long story short, after considering the risks, I got out of my car and walked to the gate, and when I did the boys jumped up and ran down the street.

I think at the time I was right to anticipate that I could have been in some sort of danger, but afterward all I could do was laugh. And when I got home, Bess was mainly concerned about whether the pink lemonade would come out of my shirt. (It did.)

I didn’t think about the episode again until a week later when I was looking for something to write about.

As it turned out, many of you believed I had indeed been in serious danger. One woman said she was scared just reading my account, and another expressed relief that I had not been shot.

Someone else wondered why I had not called 911.

Good question. Maybe it was my stubborn male tendency to resist asking for directions – or help of any kind – when there’s a chance I can find my way or solve the problem myself.

I just wasn’t convinced at the time that I was in danger, so I took my chances.

Some people said they shared my story with their sons or grandsons, as instruction on how to conduct themselves and stay out of trouble. That was nice.

My favorite response was from Fort Benning, where a civilian worker and retired officer sent word that he could start sending over some Rangers at the end of the day to escort me from my office to the car.

That was funny, and the response I’d expected all along: Man up!

Here’s one response I hadn’t expected. On Facebook, one man offered this explanation for what had happened to me: I’d been the victim of the national trend of targeting white men.

I promise, that wasn’t where I was headed with this. I wasn’t thinking about race at all.

You might have noticed that I hadn’t described the three boys beyond their age and size. I will tell you now that they were black and I am white, but that has nothing to do with this story.

Obviously, I hadn’t felt threatened by them when I first saw them. It didn’t matter whether they were black or white. What mattered is that after I’d walked up and greeted them, I got the feeling they were up to no good.

You can be black and up to no good, and you can be white and up to no good.

Likewise, you can be black and in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you can be white and in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or male or female, or old or young. You get the picture.

I just don’t believe that those fellows were lying in wait for an old white guy, or that anybody else is lining up now to take a shot at me.

President Trump used this sort of philosophy to get elected, but I don’t think he believes it either.

Here’s what happened to me on that Friday night: I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and stumbled upon some guys who were up to no good – and with too much time on their hands.

Here’s what I learned: You don’t turn your back in those situations.

I did, but I only got wet.

Here’s another thing I learned: Every day is a gift.

Thanks for the feedback.

This story was originally published March 9, 2018 at 4:55 PM with the headline "Yes, I’m a white man, but I don’t have a target on my back."