Yesterday I had the pleasure of attending a Branford Marsalis jazz concert at my university.  I forgot to get tickets, so I took a chance and went over to the concert hall to see if there were any left.  Luckily, there were, although they were in the nosebleed section.  The good thing is that it’s a great venue, so anywhere I sat would be fine.  Since I’d gotten there early, I ended up people watching from the balcony that overlooks the area where people gather before the show.  In the sea of mostly white, older, nicely dressed attendees (probably season ticket holders, I assumed), one of the attendees stood out. He was a black male who had a do-rag on his head and a cap over that, along with some khakis and, if I remember correctly, an Army fatigue-type jacket on.  The contrast was quite noticeable, as he was also tall.  Of course, my first thought was that confirmation bias would lead anyone who saw him to draw the usual negative conclusions about black folks: that he was a no-account who didn’t even care enough to wear appropriate clothing to the event, and a do-rag, to boot.  It was just a passing thought, but I had it nonetheless.  Being black, as I am, you get used to people making these sorts of snap judgments about you that can truly color your encounters.

He ended up sitting a couple of seats away from me.  I guess we were both late in getting our tickets.  He began talking to the elderly white couple behind him.  Since no one sat in between, and the four of us were the only ones in that section, they could speak in conversational tones that allowed me to hear every word.

Turns out, he was a musician from New York visiting his hospitalized mother here, and had managed  catch the concert.  He was quite excited because he had played (the saxophone) in a band that opened for Branton’s brother, Wynton Marsalis, and had Wynton to his home in New York.

I absolutely loved it that both he and the couple had simply taken each other as they were and did not let the usual walls of outward appearance stand in the way.  He struck up a conversation with them even though they were white, older, and well-dressed, and they responded in kind even tho he had on a do-rag and otherwise casual urban street clothes clearly not otherwise found at the event.  They had a high old time chatting away until the show began.

If they had each judged the book by its cover they would never have allowed themselves to be enriched by the serendipitous conversation they engaged in that they all clearly enjoyed.

That is such a great lesson.  For all of us.