You Will Never Change My Mind

You Will Never Change My Mind

Damn kids. Damn Grandkids. Damn every damn kid. You will never change my mind. I don’t know why they want to make my life so difficult. I’ve worked hard. I just want to rest. Somehow I roped into hauling Peter (they think it is so flattering they named him after me, what’s it do for me?) down to the museum for his homework. Like that’s my job. I didn’t choose to have him. His mom should take him, not me. Isn’t that why my son got married to her? To take care of his kids?

Then, on the way, Peter ignores me and has some noise in his ears. If he would take those damn things out of his ears, I could tell him what I think of it. Damn kid. Could you guess? On the way, a frinkin’ protest. Hasn't the fact they screwed up football been enough? Now I have to carefully drive around them or I am the bad guy. I bet they are heading to the museum. They stand there just to be in the way. Wouldn’t that be just my luck.

Great. The “special” exhibit is African-American History. Please shoot me now. Like I want to be preached at all day about how “Black Lives Matter”. I’m not racist and I have a black friend. Buddy. Known him fifty years since the Army. We never treated him a bit different from the regular soldiers. He’s a good guy. I'd trust him with my life. I’m not racist. They need to give it a rest.

First part’s kinda cool. They are talking about black influence in music. Peter is coming out of his shell and actually laughed at my joke about this actually being my music. I am not learning anything. Can’t imagine Pete is either. I love jazz. I always forget it came from the South. Wish we could just stay in this part of the exhibit. A lot of this music came out of Harlem. That's sorta interesting. The rest is going to be so boring. Damn kid wants to keep moving. At least we will be closer to done.

On to paintings. I hate looking at paintings. They all either look like a child painted them or some crazy person who has never seen what a real person looks like. Sometimes half naked; sometimes all naked. Well these aren’t too bad. Lots of color, bright colors. They are kinda different. Look at this one. That woman has big hair - but it is filled with people. Every face is different. It makes me want to look closer to see if I am missing something. It feels like I am missing something. I asked Pete what it means. He don’t know. A lot of these pictures are about family. Why all the paintings about family? Pete says his teacher (probably a hippie) says its to show how no matter how slavery tore apart the families, they found a way to create them again - stronger. I really had not thought about it. I bet those families, even after slavery, couldn’t find each other. Women probably stuck together to help raise the kids; the men probably stuck together to find work. I bet some kids had to grow up alone. Families probably looked different. Huh.

The colors are so bright. The pictures seem to try to hide something. Except maybe that one. They have naked pictures too; look at Peter blush. He didn’t think he would be looking at that with Grandpa. I could be nice but I harass him instead. Damn kid, he is so quick. He says, “Surprised you even remember what they are doing, you are so old.” Funny though. We grab a soda. His mom would have a fit, but Pete and I need our little secrets. Funny, I didn’t notice he has my crooked smile. Looks better on him. Good thing they named him Pete.

One more section. We are almost done. Photos? Why would that be considered art? You just point it at a flower and click. They are not even pretty. Black and white. After all the color in the paintings this is boring. Wait. The military pictures are cool. Wonder why so many troops are all black. Why would they keep them separate? That seems wrong. Buddy was right there with us for everything. It would not have been the same without him. Always had a picture of his kid. He loved that damn kid. He still loves that damn kid. He alway said to keep his kid safe, he had to keep his troop safe. It doesn’t make sense to keep us all separate. It seems like a lot of effort for no reason.

Why would they have photos of that? They are dead. They are hanging there dead. That one is on fire. People are posing in them with the hanging guys. That’s not right. Pete asked me why. I don’t know what to say. Pete asks if it still happens. I think of that damn thing in Minnesota that everyone got so worked up about. I kinda think about the cop with his knee on that man's neck. I told Pete I don’t know. I think maybe I should know. The rest of the photos are similar, or show people protesting. People are mad at the protesters. The protesters are in the way and calling for change.

Damn.

Pete and I left the place, the museum. I kinda feel drained. I must be getting old. I was right! Here they are protesting, having a sit in right in front of us in the park. Trying to be in the way. People are mad they are in the way. I am feeling tired. I tell Pete I don’t feel much like heading home. Think I might sit right here with these damn hippies, these damn kids. I think maybe I may just sit here. Think I just might be in the way.

You will never change my mind.

Damn.