I ascribe to the Scalzi theory of the game of life, first introduced in https://whatever.scalzi.com/2012/05/15/straight-white-male-the-lowest-difficulty-setting-there-is/ and reaffirmed 10 years later in https://whatever.scalzi.com/2022/05/18/straight-white-male-the-lowest-difficulty-setting-ten-years-on/. I encourage you to read it, it’s a good pair of articles.

So, as a cis-het white male, born with a trust fund, I got to not only play the game of life on the lowest difficulty setting, I also got “wealth” and “intelligence” as my two best starting stats. Constitution might’ve started a bit on the low side, but again, I was lucky enough to be born into a world with most of the late-game science and medicine achievements already researched, and therefore got to live long enough to go to college, get a job, get married, and reproduce.

If I was a narcissist, or a conservative, I might think that it’s not luck; that I earned my place. That I got what I deserved. That I got where I was because I worked harder and was smarter than other people.

I mean, I did work hard, and I was pretty much always the smartest person in the room. But I also know that I was exceptionally lucky, and that the society I was born into, and the race I happened to be born, stacked the deck in my favor.

How do I know?

Let’s time warp back to April 29^th, 1992. (Some of you already know where I’m going.)

In April 1992, I was finishing my sophomore year in college. At the beginning of the year, I had been assigned to live in a suite with four other men – as it turned out, four black men. We each had our own bedrooms, but we shared a single bathroom. There wasn’t a common area, so when we hung out, it was in someone’s bedroom – usually the guy’s that had the little color TV and a VCR.

For the first 8 months of knowing these men, the hardest thing that I personally experienced of “being a black man” was clogged shower drains. Their hair was different than mine, and much more likely to clog the drain.

That changed on the 29^th, though. I came back after dinner, and all of the other guys were piled into one of their rooms – the one with the TV.

The Rodney King riots started in Los Angeles on April 29^th. A year before, Rodney King had been beaten by four white police officers, and it was captured on video tape. The beating had been broadcast nationally for months. Most of you know George Floyd, or Treyvon Martin, but us Gen-X folks think of Rodney King first.

The four LAPD officers were acquitted on the 29^th. At 6pm EST, the verdicts were announced, and the riots started minutes later.

I went into the room, stood in the back, and watched as fires started to burn. I watched as windows were smashed and businesses were looted. I watched helicopter shots of Korean shopkeepers defending their businesses with rifles on the rooftops.

It was terrifying.

After a time, I found some courage, and asked my suitemates to help me understand what was happening. I wanted to understand what could cause this, and why it blew up so violently.

And these men gave me time, and patience, and answers. We talked well past midnight. I asked questions, they answered; they asked me questions, and I answered.

They told me about The Talk. All of them had gotten The Talk.

The Talk is what black mothers tell their sons, about how to behave around police officers. Keep your eyes low. Say yes sir and no sir. Keep your hands out of your pockets. Never try to run. Never fight back, even if they get in your face, or hit you, or push you into a wall, or slam you to the ground.

Their mothers gave them The Talk because they were mothers, and more than anything else in the world, they wanted their sons to come home each night, safe and sound.

On April 29^th, I learned that all four of these men, at one point in their lives (most more than once), had been handcuffed and placed in the back of a police car, for the crime of walking while black. They had done nothing wrong, other than being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong color skin.

They were in middle school, with a backpack, walking home from the bus stop after wrestling practice.

They were in high school, at a party with some friends, where there wasn’t any alcohol or drugs; when the cops showed up, their white friends went home, while they went to the precinct.

None of them were ever convicted. None ever went to trial. Most never even got charged – just held, maybe in the back of the police car, maybe at the precinct, maybe overnight. But because they’d gotten The Talk, all of them came home to their mothers.

These were four strong, intelligent, family men. These men, through determination, hard work, and exceptional intelligence, had earned their way into an Ivy League school. All of these men had passed their freshman courses and were nearly done with their sophomore year. Today, people might say they were “DEI admissions,” but I know for a fact they were anything but. They’d earned their spot by their talent, grit, intelligence, and drive, and had performed admirably in the academic arena.

So when I say I’m lucky, and when I say “I got to play the game of life on the lowest difficulty setting,” I mean that my mom never had to give me The Talk. I mean that cops don’t look at me like they did at them. I mean that I’ve never been in handcuffs just because I was walking down the street, after dark, with a backpack on.

I mean that I’m not trans, so nobody’s ever called me a pedophile or yelled at me in a bathroom.

I mean that I’m not gay, so I’ve never been beat up because of who I hold hands with.

ICE is never going to give me a second glance.

I’m not saying I’m better, or thank god I’m not a race or sexual orientation other than what I am. I’m saying that I have not had prejudice and hatred, that others have suffered their entire lives, ever directed at me. And I didn’t really understand that – until that night.

When people say “woke,” it’s an honor, not a stigma. I am lucky, because I woke up in April of 1992. I am lucky, because I got to live with and listen to those men, with the right color skin, in the right place, at the right time. I am lucky, because they were patient and open and honest with me, because I was open and honest with them.

I am lucky, because I’ve been woke ever since.