“Hello.”
“Derrick? This is Neil.”
“Well, this is a surprise.”
“Listen, I know we haven’t spoken in a long time.”
“I’m not apologizing.”
“I know. I know. It was my fault. It’s OK that you went to Jennifer’s party and didn’t tell me about it. I don’t want to lose your friendship over something stupid.”
“Well, thank you. I’m glad to hear that our friendship means something to you.”
“It does. I’m a firm believer in diversity and whenever I have a heated conversation about race relations, I like to say that “some of my best friends are African-American.” And yesterday, I was online arguing with this woman about the lack of diversity in the parenting blogging community, and I was about to say, “Some of my best friends…” when I realized that YOU were my ONLY best friend who was black, and since we weren’t talking, I couldn’t honestly say that “some of my best friends are African-American” anymore because I am all about authenticity. And that hurt. It also makes me look bad not have a black best friend.
“So, are you saying that you want to become friends again, so you can tell others that “some of your best friends are African-American?”
“Well, it’s not the only reason. But the main one. Is there a problem with that?”
“That is disgusting. Is this what the entire civil rights movement means to you? Just so you can prove your liberal credentials to your lily-white ass friends by trotting me out like… some… some… accordian playing monkey?”
“I would never call you a monkey. That would be racist.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that your roots are in Africa.”
“So?”
“So, I mean you have some sort of psychic connection to the jungle.”
“I’m from Queens. I’ve never been hiking. Who wants to go to the f*cking jungle? How would you like if I called you a kike?”
“Are you calling me a kike?”
“Yeah, maybe I am!”
“What exactly is a kike?”
“I have no idea.”
“When I first heard that word, I thought it was “kite.” Which was odd. Why would you call a Jew a kite?  You rarely see Jews flying kites.”
“That’s not true. Remember we flew kites once at Jones Beach.”
“That’s true.”
“We were terrible. We had to ask that old guy to show us how to fly a kite.”
“So, are we friends again?”
“I don’t know.”
“You need me. As much as I need you. Without me, you can’t say that “some of your best friends are Jewish.”
“That’s not true. Half of my friends are Jewish.”
“They are?”
“I work at school in the Upper West Side!”
“I forgot.”
“Am I really your only black friend?”
“Well, right now you are. No, wait. There is this black guy in Redondo Beach. But I don’t really like him that much. He’s a little boring. Always talking about his car.”
“What type of car?”
“1965 Mustang.”
“Nice.”
“You wouldn’t like him though. He doesn’t like the Simpsons.”
“No? Nah. I probably wouldn’t like him.”
“Even though he’s black?”
“Even though he’s black.”
“OK. So where do we stand…?”
“Uh…”
“I take that as a yes.”
“OK. We’re friends again. You can go tell your white friends that you have a black friend again.”
“Thank you, Derrick! Nice to have you back, African-American friend!”
Note: Sigh! I hate saying this, but just to protect the innocent from overly-literal readers:  Truth Quotient: 4%
