NOTIONS: Collisions of the soul and tradition of white old men
Last Tuesday afternoon, I pulled up to the curb at my downtown office building. As I waited for my colleague, John, to join me for a drive to Bloomington, an old man ambled by, the dark skin on his craggy face covered by a salt-and-pepper beard. Despite mild temperatures, he wore snow pants and a winter jacket. A stocking cap covered his head. And a bright blue blanket hung over his shoulders. The old man shuffled up to a trash…