White Males

At the beginning of the Reagan era, I had a nightmare. I found myself in a damp crowded underground shelter. Oppressive gray cement walls were the backdrop to thousands of people huddled together. Children, women, and men stood in unison, too lifeless to move. Through the crowd I spotted him; jet black hair, rouged cheeks, and gesticulating hands. He danced through the crowd unaware of his surrounding. He talked to himself and reminded me of all the crazy men I avoided making eye contact with on New York streets. He looked more like Ronald McDonald then a president. In a low, but hurt voice he repeated, "It’s not my fault, they elected me." With dream like transformation I suddenly viewed the world through his eyes. Families, minorities, and difference disappeared. I was staring out into an expanse of White male faces, each uniformly emotionless. He and I became one and I saw myself reflected in their pupils.