This evening a neighbor on the first floor of my building stopped me as I came inside. She’s an elderly white woman; I’ll call her Ms. Tammy. Sometimes she’ll invite me in if she has a question or offer me something she’s baked. She’s a spunky lady despite her age and her health problems. Both of my grandmothers are in heaven so chatting with her warms my heart and reminds me of them.

We got to talking about a young lady on her floor, who is black, and probably 19 or 20. She lives with her grandfather, and he works nights. I mentioned that I hadn’t seen him in a while. Ms. Tammy assured me that she sees him leave for work every day. She also mentioned that his granddaughter didn’t like sleeping in their condo alone when he was at work.

“She may not feel comfortable being in this building full of white people. If I was the only white person in a building full of black people, I wouldn’t feel comfortable,” said Ms. Tammy.

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh yes, absolutely,” Ms. Tammy replied.

“Ms. Tammy, you don’t need to worry about being uncomfortable living in a building with a lot of black people. And you do know that I am black?”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am. My mother is biracial and my father is black,” I explained.

“But your parents are white!” she declared.

“No, my mother’s father was black and her mother was white. And both of my father’s parent’s were fair-skinned blacks,” I said.

“Oh, well I hope I didn’t offend you. I had no idea. I just can’t believe it Courtney!” she said. “I grew up in a small town on a farm, and you didn’t hear much about races mixing.”

“It’s okay. Most people don’t know what I am. I get mistaken for different races all the time,” I assured her. I explained that most of my grandmother’s family disowned her when she married my grandfather. And then she proceeded to tell me about her deceased ex-husband who married twice after they split, the third time to a black woman who “was very nice and had many degrees.”

I nodded my head as she told me about her philandering husband and his young, attractive, black, third wife. And the fact that he kept a motel for all of his mistresses during their marriage. Wow, I thought to myself. I’m tired, hungry and I have two flights to climb before I get home.

She laughed and then looked me in the eyes and smiled, and said, “I really hope I didn’t offend you,” and she gave me a hug.

Her phone rang so I told her to have a good night and that I’d talk to her later.

The next time Ms. Tammy invites me in for a chat or slice of her blueberry cobbler, I’ll oblige her. Just like I always have.