For me, the right thing to do this past week was … to think. The world is in an uproar and we all have a place in the turmoil. Social media is a cesspool of snarling racists, preachy Karens, and nasty name-callers.

How can our country still be so ugly?

When we moved from Connecticut to Indiana, I was 15 years old and a sophomore in high school. It was the fall of 1973.

A few weeks after we moved to Carmel, Halloween arrived. I was the designated candy-giver-outer. It was fun.

The fun ended when the child racist rang our doorbell.

A little boy, maybe 10 years old, was dressed completely in white. Including a pointed hood.

I was stunned: “You don’t really believe that garbage, do you?”

Honest to God, I had no idea the Ku Klux Klan still existed. Our lives in Massachusetts and Connecticut had immersed us in a “melting pot” population.

I’ll never forget his reply: “I hate all those [N word]s!”

I started shaking and hollered at him: Get out of here! Now!

Dad came out from the kitchen, asking what had happened. He took over candy duty. I shook for another half hour.

That was long before the internet was available, but slowly I learned that Indiana was a hotbed of KKK activity during the 20th century. Even now, the embers glow from time to time. It’s sickening.

White privilege is a hot topic right now. It’s undeniable. Those who get all defensive about it need to calm down and really think. It is not about money. It’s not about how difficult or easy your life has been. It is about the color of our skin.

Here’s another story from Carmel. In 1975, I’d attended a cast party following a school play. I’d offered a friend a ride home. It was shortly before midnight and we were stunned at how foggy the night had become. We giggled as I drove extra slowly, as even with streetlights it was really hard to see the road.

A few minutes later, police lights flashed and we pulled over. This is embarrassing, but I hadn’t turned on the car’s headlights, just the parking lights. The policeman laughed with us (we were sober, but he didn’t check to be sure) and sent us on our way.

Can you imagine how different that story might have ended had I been a black teen?

I’d forgotten about this moment in my life until the past few weeks, when “white privilege” became a trending topic on social media. The privilege is that my skin color probably protected me from unnecessary scrutiny.

My mom always urged me to drive carefully, but didn’t have to give a second thought to warning me how to behave if stopped by the police. It never occurred to us.

On May 25, 2020, as George Floyd lay prone, with a policeman’s knee on his neck, the dying man called out to his mother.

Every mother should have heard his call.

As mothers, how many times did we check our newborns while they slept, just to be sure they were breathing? Dozens of times a night, admit it. We were downright neurotic about it – and even sometimes inadvertently woke them up while checking. We’d swear to stop, but would be back at it the next night.

“Mama. I can’t breathe.”

My mother brought me up to respect all colors. I’ve done the same with my children.

Going back another generation, “Irish need not apply” signs were hung at businesses. But those signs came down and were forgotten after a few decades.

My Grandpa Cassidy was a police officer who believed walking his beat and getting to know the neighbors personally was the best way to serve and protect. I’ve been thinking a lot about that kind and gentle man recently. What would he have thought of this? It would have broken his heart.

Mr. Floyd was put to rest today. We must do better.

Why is there still resistance to #BlackLivesMatter? And to the removal of the shameful Confederate statues that still serve as a reminder that a portion of our nation once owned other human beings?

Demanding the replacement of “black” with “all” is a racial reaction. Period. It’s a denial that there’s anything wrong with our country. It’s a narcissistic shout of “what about me?” when we should instead be asking “how can I help?” and “whom can I help?” Say it out loud: #BlackLivesMatter.

The cry of #BlackLivesMatter should be heard by all mothers. And all fathers. Instead of looking for excuses not to help, we can all make a difference. Even if that difference is simply thinking about our privilege and accepting that it exists. And by not mouthing off defensively on social media (yes, we all know he had a criminal record).

If we can’t join in the #BlackLivesMatter protest marches, we can at least stop complaining about them. We can donate to good causes. There are many.

As November approaches, we can all study up on the individual candidates and vote for people with a history of kindness and wisdom to run our communities and our nation. Our very future depends on it.

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