That look...you know the one I mean.

The other morning I was driving to work along the Beltway, and I saw a dead deer in the median. The deer was a pretty good size, and I couldn’t figure out where it came from or where it was going. Every time I see a dead deer I think of a friend of mine, and here’s why.

Back in the early 90s, TL and her family moved to Rochester, NY. One summer weekend I drove from MA to visit them. Her kids were thrilled to see me, and there were plenty of hugs to go around. Sunday morning I went to church, and managed to get lost getting back to TL’s house. Not hopelessly lost, but I did see a lot of more of the countryside than I anticipated. One of the things I saw was dead deer. Lots of dead deer beside the road, on the shoulders and in the medians. It was very creepy.

When I finally arrived at TL’s house, her children came flying out of the door to give me more hugs and tell me that their Grandparents had arrived for a visit. TL’s parents had heard of me, and they knew their grandkids adored me. That knowledge still didn’t keep them from getting the “Oh my god she’s black” look on their faces when they saw me. It’s a classic and unmistakable look. Most people recover pretty quickly and get on with their lives. TL’s parents didn’t.

(I once ran an internship program and I never hired any Latino, Asian or Black interns. There were no minorities were applying for the positions. I wanted to see a diversity of qualified students applying and considering arts administration as a possible career choice. I spent about a year making connections with community organizations, churches, student groups, and professional associations in an attempt to recruit some qualified non White applicants. One day I got a resume from Keisha Williams (not her real name but close). She was a member of the Black Student Union, an African American History major, and had spent a semester doing a study abroad in an African country. I scheduled a phone interview and she sounded great. I offered her the internship and she accepted. I was ecstatic. Her first day of work arrived and the receptionist called me to the reception area. I skipped to the reception area to meet my intern. I arrived and there were two women waiting – one was Asian and the other was white. I said, Keisha? And as Keisha lifted up her head and I got the “Oh my god she’s white” look on my face which was quickly followed by the “Where’s my Black intern?” look. I like to believe that I recovered quickly. Keisha was fabulous and about 6 months later; I finally hired a qualified minority intern. So, what’s the lesson here kids? When you assume, you can be in for some hilarious surprises.)

TL’s parents weren’t thrilled about the fact their grandson had a big ol’ crush on an older black woman and that their granddaughter preferred to sit next to me instead of them. I attempted to charm them. I showed enthusiasm for looking at their RV. I even watched the video of them driving their RV down the interstate, chatting with their friends while sitting in the RV, and grilling out at an RV park. I continued to be charming until I mentioned the dead deer on the road. I said, I saw a lot of dead deer on the road, and TL’s father said, You should have picked some up. I said, Excuse me? He said, That’s perfectly good meat going to waste. All you needed to do was field dress it and bring it home. As long as it hasn’t started to bloat, it’s good for eating. I was speechless. I said, Oh, I didn’t know that. That provoked a lecture from him on hunting, field dressing, and the wastefulness of Americans. By the end of his lecture, I was done attempting to be charming. I really wanted to say, “My family was poor when I was growing up, but they never felt the need to teach me how to harvest roadkill.” Instead I said, “Well, you learn something new every day” and I got up left the room.

Now whenever I see a dead deer on the road, I think of TL and wonder if the deer has started to bloat.