Moving Forward in Never Say Never

Three days of racism and refined carbs left me with all of the hangover and none of the fun. When my dad gleefully recounted to me how he'd just called an early-morning telemarketer a "towel head" before 9 a.m., I knew I had to get out of there fast. It was, however, no better at my grandparents' house.

When the mayor of Kansas City appeared in a television interview, my grandfather said, "Lookathere, they are taking over our major cities." And by "they," I instinctively knew that he wasn't referring to large men in blue suits whom he knew nothing about, or former Marines with law degrees, or people who have been cited among the most innovative mayors in the country by "Newsweek." No, that's not at all what my grandfather meant -- and it was obvious. And it made me sad.

And what made me sadder was that in both cases, the comments were unnecessary. There was no reason for the retelling of the awful story or the offhand comment meant for no one in particular. None at all, except to give a voice to hatred.

My family was floored that I was leaving so soon. My dad called me later to say my visit went by too fast. I never agree when they say that. I simply said something like, "Well, if you feel that way then it means I didn't wear out my welcome." I desperately want to say, "Your racism ran me off. If you want me to visit longer, perhaps you could be less horrible."

When I got home, I ate a giant plate of sushi, took a three-hour nap, and then ate two bowls of cereal. I spent all day yesterday with a stomachache and a headache, and a general sense of ugh. Today I am committed to getting over it and moving forward. I didn't sleep well last night, and my head filled up with ideas that would be nice to put into action -- such as a proposal for a column for our city mag on the things I have discovered about life since turning 40.