My dad and his good friend Fred

I have been deeply troubled by the increasing level of hateful and divisiveness rhetoric. Recently, I lay in bed unable to sleep thinking about my dad and his good friend Fred. Let me tell you about them.

My dad was was the kind of person who would pull over to help drivers stranded along the highway, and he did just that on countless occasions. He was very personable and easily made friends. One of his friends was named Fred, a soft-spoken introvert, who lived a few miles away.

I’m not even sure how they met, but the two of them were peas in a pod. Fred would stop by on Sundays with the local paper and the two would have breakfast, chat, and enjoy each other’s company for most of the morning.

Their friendship was not that remarkable to me back then, but the thought of them now elicits tears. To look and listen to them you couldn’t help but notice the obvious differences between these two men — one black and the other white, one outgoing and the other reserved, both with thick accents from their native countries (Jamaica/England and Austria). My dad’s sonorous voice would drive the conversation and Fred would sprinkle it with punctuation, when needed.

Their differences never bothered either of them, and why should they?

Their diverse culture and backgrounds made for interesting conversation, and their friendship underscored the kind of racial diversity and harmony this country is supposed to represent.

In 1998, President Bill Clinton and his administration commissioned a report on race relations titled, “One America in the 21st Century.”

“Over the coming decades, our country’s ethnic and racial diversity will continue to expand dramatically,” the report said. “Will those differences divide us, or will they be our greatest strength?”

One year after that report was released, my dad had a massive stroke and died. He was 64.

Fred, who went out of his way to avoid large gatherings, sneaked into the packed funeral and sat at the back of the church to grieve for my dad. His friend.

I never saw Fred again. My attempts to reach him years later were unsuccessful.

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about what my dad and Fred would make of the state of race relations today, more than 20 years later.

Then in my mind I see the two of them on my parent’s back porch laughing and wish everyone else could, too.