by Stan Thomas

Created on: January 10, 2011

The Garbage Man

Oakland, California has never been what you’d call a garden spot. Yes, it is across the bay from one of the world’s most beautiful cities but, if San Francisco is Cinderella, Oakland is her ugly stepsister. I know. I was born there in 1963 to Otis and Gladys Dove. So were my sisters, Tamara and Whitney, and the neighborhood where we grew up was the wart on the ugly stepsister’s nose.

My parents were proud, honest, poor, and very religious. We attended Good Shepherd Baptist Church, and of all the Sunday School teachers I’ve had in my life, Mrs. Watson’s the one I’ll never forget. She was larger than life and infused right down to her toes with the Holy Spirit. Her personality resided precisely between sternness and hilarity - could scold or belly laugh on a dime. I remember my first day in her class as if it were yesterday. I was transfixed on an image of Jesus in a frame on the wall. Everybody around me was black except for Jesus, and I wanted to know why.

I raised my hand and asked, “Mrs. Watson, was Jesus white?”

She must have been caught off guard because for a minute she had that do-I-really-want-to-go-there look in her eyes, but to her credit, she answered me.  “I don’t believe he was white or black, Mitchell,” she said.

“Well what color was he?” I asked, thinking he could be just about any color he wanted to be.

Mrs. Watson said she believed his skin was a swarthy tone, seeing as how he was born in the Middle East, and Middle-Eastern people have that type of complexion. Then I asked what color swarthy was and could my mama buy me a swarthy shirt. She placed a hand on each of her generous hips and shot me a look as if I’d asked the dumbest question she’d ever heard. But then, just as fast, her faced transformed into a smile - as if she suddenly remembered she was talking to a six-year-old - and she explained that swarthy was a dark brown color that only pertained to skin tone and no, my mother could not by me a swarthy shirt.

“Then Jesus was closer to black than white, right?” I asked.

“I think swarthy is a combination of all skin colors,” she said. “Just the right tone God meant his son to be. But much more important than his color, you must remember Jesus means love. When we think of him we should not think of skin color, we should think of love, understanding and redemption. And the same is true with him.

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