I'm constantly amazed when different people can look at the same things, agree that they are looking at the same things, but come to diametrically opposite conclusions about their causes and effects.

When I read Hal's post about race, diversity, the Republican Party and the prospects for the Democratic Party, it strikes me as two posts in one. First, Hal quotes a Charlton McIlwain piece at The Gadflyer which looks at the current tribulations of the Bush Administration and sees them being hung on the necks of the two prominent blacks in that administration, Secretary of State Colin Powell and National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice. He concludes that Republicans are using them as scapegoats because they're black. For my part, I see the blame being assigned to Powell and Rice as coming from the Left rather than from the Republicans. I've heard nothing but praise for these two individuals, for whom I personally have the utmost respect for their performance in their respective offices.

McIlwain inexplicably links their supposed downfall to the decision of former Congressman J.C. Watts to leave office. According to the Gadfly article,

Shortly before facing re-election to his fourth term, Watts' once-touted dream, to go where no black man had gone before and attempt to change the party for the betterment of blacks, had turned into a nightmare. After challenging some of the party's political strategies and policies in 1999, even working with Democrats on issues such as affirmative action, economic development in inner cities, and funding for historically black colleges and universities, Watts became the target of harsh party criticism, and finally received the GOP message loud and clear: "Boy, stay in your place."

Now, I have to admit that I don't follow Oklahoma politics very closely, but this is news to me. I have never heard anything but praise for Watts from conservatives. But believing that Watts was run out of office for being uppity, I guess I can't be surprised that McIlwain concludes that

Watts, Powell and Rice...have met or will meet their ultimate decline of influence during George W. Bush's tenure as leader of the Republican Party.

Each of these prominent black figures promoting the inclusiveness of the Republican Party came to prominence in very different ways and for very different reasons over the past decade. But with the party's abandonment of each of them, the Republicans might just as well hang a shingle on the party door reading "whites only." While Powell and Rice have been the faces in the news of late, one can only understand the far-reaching racial implications of their imminent demise by recounting the Republican racial strategy set in motion a decade earlier.

I guess those wily Republicans pulling all the strings have figured out that this particular conservative Independent would be repulsed by the strategy that McIlwain imputes, and so have kept all knowledge of their scheming from me, hoping to retain my vote.

As I said, we draw different conclusions. Admittedly, to some extent we see different things.

Following that, Hal moves on to diversity, the rights of minorities and cleaning up the baggage from the discrimination practiced by past generations. Here, Hal and I share our disgust over treating people like animals because of the color of their skin. I'm sure we are both also contemptuous of modern-day discriminatory practices. But I suspect we only half-agree here.

We agree that the "white majority" (I'm not convinced such a thing still exists in America, but I'll agree that whites continue to overwhelmingly occupy the positions of power) must stop viewing people through the prism of race, and the sooner, the better. But I'm sure we differ on the next point: those who have been discriminated against must share in the responsibility in moving forward. I believe that a significant portion of what holds minorities back in the 21st Century is that a notable percentage of their populations cling to their victimhood. Bill Cosby seems to share my position, at least to some degree.

While I certainly understand anger on the part of minorities for how they as individuals and as a class have been mistreated in the past, it's important to focus on the future. I can't do my part to help my fellow Americans achieve the full membership in society that they deserve if they resent me for the acts of other whites. Everyone, on both sides of the remaining racial divide, must deal with each other as individuals rather than imputing characteristics, attitudes and skills based on membership in a group.

Let's just agree to stop viewing each other by our respective races, and view each other as individuals. I will if you will.

That offer includes liberals, by the way.

Update: Joining the Beltway Traffic Jam.

When I was a four-year-old, my mother had her first brain surgery for a tumor. All I knew at the time was that I had to spend the night (maybe a few nights) with some friends. When I came home, Mama was sitting at the kitchen table in a robe, sporting what looked to me like a crew cut. I had no idea why she had that funny haircut, but that's not unexpected for a child as young as I was. To all appearances, Mama was fine after that.

When I was 9, things started taking a turn for the worse. Mama had to wear a brace on her left leg, and was losing the ability to use her left arm. In fairly short order, she was in a wheelchair. At the age of 10, I was caring for her instead of the other way around, at least during the times I was home and Dad was at work. My brothers were teenagers, so they weren't around the house very much.

My father and Mama's sisters always praise me for how I helped her during that time. Of course, they weren't there, and they don't know about the times I was so horribly, horribly thoughtless. Mama couldn't get out of her wheelchair and onto the toilet, so I had to lift her out of the chair, pull down her underwear and put her on the toilet. Then when she was done, I reversed the process. As you can probably imagine, it wasn't a task I relished. There were times when I took her to the bathroom, then returned to the TV. She would call for me to come get her, and I would put her off. You know, those daytime TV shows in the 60s were just so riveting for a 10-year-old. I can remember screaming at her because she was so unreasonable about wanting me to come get her. Man, I can't believe I was so mean to her.

But she loved me. From that time until she died when I was 13, she wasn't capable of caring for me. She was so incapacitated that she spent the last couple of years of her life in a nursing home. Dad had to work, of course, and we boys were in school, and she couldn't care for herself.

Of course, Dad would spend a lot of time at the nursing home with her, every day. As you can well imagine, that time was very trying for him, too. Between surgeries, physical therapy, nursing home costs and probably others I don't know about, he was struggling mightily to keep our heads above water financially. He has told me that there was a time that if someone had handed him $100,000, he couldn't have paid all his bills. And that was in the 60s in a small town in Texas.

Even while she was in the nursing home, Mama constantly fought against her debilitating condition. She always had a rubber ball that she would try to squeeze to strengthen her left hand. What frustrated her most, though, was the difficulty she had speaking. Since the tumor was on the right side of her brain, she lost control over the left side of her body. In addition to her left arm and leg, she couldn't move the left side of her mouth very well.

It's tough to imagine what this is like. Here we have a well-educated, highly intelligent woman who sounds like she's either drunk or retarded whenever she spoke. Her mind never suffered from her condition. She was as sharp as ever, but she sounded incoherent unless you really worked to understand her. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but I recently learned that she was constantly bugging Dad and her doctors about getting speech therapy. Maybe she was confined to a wheelchair in a nursing home, but she wanted to get back her ability to communicate with speed and skill.

During the summer of 1969, a few months before Mama's 44th birthday, Dad took her to visit with her doctors, neurologists I suppose, in Houston. Once again, she asked about getting speech therapy. The doctor told her that speech therapy wasn't an option. Her condition was such that therapy would only serve to drain the family finances, and her ability to speak wouldn't improve.

This was a devastating blow to Mama. More than anything else, she wanted to be able to speak intelligibly. As I recall, she was essentially bedridden within a few months. I don't remember celebrating her birthday that October. We probably didn't do a lot, given Mama's condition.

Thanksgiving Day morning, Dad got a call from the nursing home. After he hung up, he came into the den where I was watching the Macy's parade. Fighting back the tears and the sobs, he said, "Mama just died."

Since Mama had deteriorated over the years, I imagine it wasn't nearly as devastating as it would have been had she been healthy and vibrant the day before Thanksgiving. Nonetheless, losing Mama entirely at 13 was kinda tough. Now that I'm older than she was at her death, I look back and see that I just can't appreciate the value of having your mother around as you grow up and through adulthood. I can imagine it, but that's just it: it's imagination. It's extrapolation from observation. It's wishful thinking.

This experience, and my reflections on it, makes me think about my relationship with my own children, but that's another post.

Mama would be 78 if she were still alive today. Dad's still there at 78, so it's not unreasonable to imagine that, absent the brain tumor, Mama would have still been around today.

What I wouldn't give to be able to give her a hug today, and tell her I love her, and thank her for all she's done for me. Even though it's nearly 35 years on, I still miss her, and probably more than I missed her as a teenager. From this vantage point, I understand what I've missed out on.

I love you, Mama.