Michael sat down on the small bench outside the glass doors of the business school, relieved to be finished with all his miscellaneous schoolwork. He did not want to be in school on a Saturday afternoon, but he knew it was the only way to be ready for the next semester starting on Monday. He took a sip from his Pepsi and looked out into the parking lot, seeing only his Honda Civic and a few other cars. The shaded area where he sat shielded him from the blaring afternoon sun. He looked down at his watch and saw it was 1:00p.m.

"Shoot, it's time to go the beach. It's beautiful out here," he said to himself, resting his back against the wall behind him. He'd been telling himself to go the beach for months, but he'd always put it off. As he took more sips from his soda, he could hear a group of guys conversing about their schoolwork in the small courtyard behind the wall. He smiled when he heard one of the guys talking about the Computer Networking class. "Man, this is hard," he heard a man say. "You guys understand this crap TCP/IP? I passed the final exam and still don't understand it."

Michael chuckled as the guys babbled about how hard their classes were. As Michael started to gather his things, a Mustang convertible drove up in front the school with thumping bass blasting from its speakers. The Mustang stopped in front of the school and Michael could see an attractive blonde kissing a bald headed black man. Michael thought nothing of the interracial pair, considering the number of interracial couples there in San Diego. The Mustang then sped off as she got out.

Michael stood up and threw the soda can in the aluminum trash can, smiling back at the attractive woman as she walked into the school. Michael put on his sunglasses and stared at the woman's swaying hips as she walked slowly into the school.

"Man," he said, gawking, "I know I got to go to the beach now. Wanna see more of that."

Michael didn't walk two feet before he stopped dead in his tracks, shocked by what he thought he heard around the wall.

"I hate those people, man," the voice said. "How come they always get the best looking white women?"

He sat back on the bench and listened in on the racist rhetoric, stunned by what his ears confirmed to him. His eyes bulged and his jaws dropped at how blatantly offensive the racist expletives were.

"Did I just hear the 'N' word?" he said to himself. The same voices he heard talking about schoolwork were now spitting out ugly racist remarks.

"They're all good for nothing," the voice continued. Michael realized it was one pers was me," the man directly across from Michael finally said, "what of it?"

"I just wanted to know why you felt that way. By the way, my name is Michael." He extended his hand to the young man, but the man refused to shake it.

"I'm Chris," he said dryly.

"Alrighty, you don't have to shake my hand," Michael replied, pulling his hand back. "What about you guys?"

"Darren," the blond haired young man next to Chris said.

"I'm Carter," said the young man with the NIKE cap sitting next to Michael. "How come you were spying on our conversation?"

"I wasn't spying," Michael replied, "but once I heard the 'N' word, I had to see what was going on."

"Well, what do you want?" Chris said angrily, folding his arms. Michael noticed the thickness of Chris's forearms and biceps as he tightly gripped a cell phone in his hand. The humorous Big Johnson character on his shirt made him grin slightly. He guessed Chris was about 27 years old.

"Just wanted to know why you feel the way you do," Michael replied. "Think we can have an intellectual discussion on this matter without throwing blows?"

Chris looked at his friends. Both of them were nodding their heads.

"Alright," Chris said, smiling, "I got time. So, you want to know why I don't you like guys?"

Michael nodded his head. "Yup. You obviously didn't like that blond kissing that black dude."

"I just believe white should be with white, black should be with black. Matter of fact, I believe all races people should be separated, especially for the sake of the white race. With all this racial mixing, the white race won't even exist in the next 50 years or so."

Michael acted surprised. "Oh really? How should we separate?" Chris's head flinched slightly. "Well," he replied, while clearing his throat, "its simple. Since our white forefathers discovered this great nation, all white people should stay here in America. Anyone of African descent should go back to Africa and all the other races should go back to where ever they originally came from. Simple as that."

"Why do whites get to stay? How come you guys can't take your butts back to Europe?"

"Because America wouldn't be what it is today without white people!"

"Really? Seems to me if there were any group of people who had rights to America it would be the American Indian."

"To hell with that! White people built this nation, so we stay here!"

"On the backs of slaves and Indians," Michael replied sternly. "How do you determine 'white', anyway? How far back in a person's family genetic history should we go? If you discovered a white man had a great-grandfather who was Indian ---or maybe, Hispanic--- is that man still considered white?" Chris paused before answering. His friends stared at him, eagerly waiting for a quick comeback.

"Well, yes!" Chris replied.

"Okay. What about a black great-great grandmother?"

Chris looked away from Michael while rapidly scratching his head, unsure how to respond. "If he looks white and acts white, he's white!" he finally said.

"Italian? Romanian? Albino? Are they part of the 'promised people', too?" Michael quickly replied. His rapid responses caught Chris off guard. "What about Russian descent? Croatian?"

Michael's sarcastic replies irritated Chris. Neither Darren nor Carter knew how to answer Michael's questions, so they kept quiet. Michael could tell Chris was getting irritated.

"Don't get mad, homey," Michael replied, jokingly, "just trying to figure this out. So, what do we do about biracial people? What about people like Keanu Reeves or Halle Berry? Halle Berry is mixed with white and black; Keanu Reeves looks white but isn't. Are they included people in one place separated from everyone else. Period."

Michael nodded his head, dissatisfied but amused by Chris's short, hesitant responses. He was a little surprised at how easy it was to rattle him. Chris's friends seemed to be enjoying the debate, but still chose to let Chris do the talking.

"Alright, I'll leave it at that since you so eloquently explained your position," Michael replied sarcastically. "Let's just say you have this fantasy world of every race in America deciding to separate and 'go back' to their supposed homeland. That would mean every minority group would have to quit their professions ----doctors, lawyers, athletes, judges, police officers, teachers, etc ---- somehow make arrangements to move to their new lands; pray there's room in their new country to live; sell their houses or break their leases; fly to where ever they supposedly originated from and set up shop there, right? Oh yea, get a divorce or annulment if they're in a interracial relationship with a white person."

Chris began tapping on the table with his fingers and kept his eyes down so not to look Michael in the eye. Chris's uncomfortable gestures amused Michael. "I bet this man is beginning to hear what I'm talking about," Michael thought to himself.

"Yup. Whatever you say," Chris replied, his voice trailing.

Michael nodded his head again, pretending to agree with him. "Alrighty, then. Let's just look at what would happen to America in the meantime: considering a large number of Americans are minorities, don't you think that would kill the American economy? All the 'great' white people would have to pick up the workload left by their 'unworthy' minority counterparts and work three times as hard, right? With this great shifting of people from this country to another, the economy would plummet because of the buying and labor power us minorities have. Don't you think?"

"White people will survive. We always have."

"Maybe, but most businesses would suffer greatly because of the imclearbluemediate loss of labor and profit. Shoot, California alone would be in some serious turmoil because just recently whites here became a minority." Michael noticed each of their eyebrows rise on their foreheads. Chris tried to look as stone-faced as he could, but Michael could tell he was acknowledging the things he pointed out; things Chris probably did not think hard about.

"And what about the military?" Michael continued, "San Diego is a military city with five naval bases. Think what would happen if minorities had to pack and leave. The entire military is short of people as it is. I have a friend in the Navy and he works as an Electrician's Mate. His work center is undermanned as it is, but most of the people he works with are minority. My friend is white and it doesn't seem to bother him, though."

Darren nodded his head. "Yea, my brother's in the Navy and he has a chief that's Filipino and a supervisor who's black." Chris made an evil face at Darren as he spoke.

"Yep, I believe it," said Michael. "If things go down the way you want them to, there wouldn't be a military or a healthy labor force in America. The market would crash, there would be a recession, depression, and crime would go up. But good ole' boy Chris here would be sipping on Jack Daniels and dipping Redman with his dirty feet up on his bare kitchen table happy as hell 'cause we got dem dere niggers and wetbacks outta here! Yee Haw!'" Chris's friends chuckled at Michael's exaggerated southern accent.

"I don't care what you say," Chris replied, "blacks have made no major contributions at all. Whites have historically been the main innovators of every major achievement in America. I don't know of any black inventors, except that black dude who invented hair grease and Jerri curl juice. Got to be proud of that, huh?"

His friends laugh out loud. To thei notice you have a Band-Aid on your thumb. How'd you cut yourself?"

"Cut myself working on my car. Why?"

"Well, the Band-Aid on your hand reminds me of a man named Charles Richard Drew. Ever heard of him?"

"Nope."

"Of course you haven't. He was the first director of the American Red Cross blood bank and a pioneer in blood preservation. The model he established for blood banks used by Red Cross back then are still being used today." "Is that right?" Chris said, acting unimpressed.

Michael continued. "He helped establish the concept of blood banks that served American troops and its allies during World War II, saving thousands of lives."

Chris frowned. "I bet you're going to tell me he's black, right?"

"Yes, sir."

Michael pointed towards Chris's cell phone. "You got a nice lookin' cell phone there. Reminds of a man named Henry T. Sampson. Ever heard of him?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Of course you haven't. He was an engineer who's co-invention laid the groundwork to the cellular phone. Another black man, I'm afraid." Chris appeared agitated. His friends remained quiet, but showed interest.

"That is pure crap!" Chris exclaimed. "You can't pro

"Prove it?" Michael interrupted. "Yes, I can, but why don't you prove it to yourself, 'Mr. Whitey Almighty?' Look it up on the Internet or something. You're into computers, right?"

"Yea, I am," Chris smirked. "I bet there weren't any black pioneers in computer technology, were there?"

"Phillip Emeagwali," Michael said quickly, "he designed a program and formula for the fastest computer in the world. He won the Gordon Bell award in the late 80's, which is like the Pulitzer prize for computer technology. In fact, he was one of 20 people to win Pioneer of the Internet award in 1999. Sounds like a pioneer to me."

Chris glared at Michael with evil eyes. Again, he was caught off guard.

"I like the shirt with the Ferrari and the Big Johnson character in it. I especially like the way it shows him speeding past the streetlights and stuff. The streetlights remind me of a man named Garret Morgan. Ever hear

"NO!" Chris cried, irritated. "What, you're going to tell me he invented the Ferrari?"