Maybe I got it wrong.
I walked into that block party already telling myself a story. When she didn’t acknowledge me again, I filled in the rest. I’ve felt that kind of quiet dismissal before, the kind that comes from people who carry power without needing to explain it. It doesn’t come with sharp words. It just leaves you out without saying why.
In that moment, she became more than herself. She became a symbol of something I’ve seen often in Democratic spaces, where the language is about welcome and inclusion, but the practice is much more controlled. Belonging can depend on how you speak, how you show up, who you know.
But maybe I was wrong.
Maybe she didn’t recognize me. Maybe her memory is fading. Maybe something else was going on that I couldn’t see. The people I was with, people I trust and care about, responded gently. They said she was older. That this is how she is. Maybe they weren’t avoiding the moment. Maybe they were protecting someone they still see clearly, even if some parts of her are starting to slip.
If that’s true, then I took a human moment and turned it into something political. I used it to make a point about a pattern I’ve seen before. That’s something I have to own.
Because the truth is, I could be in her place one day. Any of us could. A little behind. Still wanting to connect. Still trying to show up. And when that time comes, I hope someone gives me the grace I struggled to offer.
Maybe it’s the chip that sometimes jumps back on my shoulder. Sometimes that chip helps me see things others don’t. But sometimes it gets in the way. It can make it harder to see what’s actually happening, especially when the moment is small and human.
To the friends who stood beside me that day, I saw your care. I wasn’t trying to take away from that. I was trying to understand what it meant and I still am.
Maybe I was wrong about the guy who defended Biden?
Ray