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At some point during my senior year in high school, I was playing a game of ping-pong with a friend. Playing, for myself and many of my close friends, was a conversation inducer and a social event, itself. We were talking about the weekend social scene in Ukiah, my rural home town. The topic centered, of course, on drinking. We were bragging (check that, I was gloating) about how fucked up we had been at different parties. My story related to one evening in the previous months. And so I began, laughing, "I was so drunk ..."

On that night, I had consumed far too much alcohol. It was a great evening. Hanging out with incredibly attractive and interesting girls at a party was always a blast.

"And so I just found her dancing with me, so, you know, I got all close. Bling, bling. You know what I'm saying." We laughed. I had such confidence.

My memory began to fade very early and by the end of the night, I was completely blacked out. It was lucky for me; that evening I got unbelievably sick. My final memory of the night had been a brief glimpse of a police officer looking at me. At that point, the one short-lived emotion which ran through me was fear. And I had all kinds of reasons to be afraid, my friend Loren later told me. (1) My ride and I matched a rough description of two men who had just robbed a store in the area. (2) At my feet, there lay a brown paper bag holding a bottle of liquor. (3) I had just been puking on the sidewalk. So there Loren and I were, obvious MIPs, myself severely inebriated, matching descriptions of crime suspects in the immediate vicinity. What happened?

"You get him home safe, son, y'hear," the officer said to Loren.

"Yes, officer. I'll do my best."

I finished my story and we started another game. In the middle of it, my friend felt the need to begin a story of his own. His was much similar to mine, involved him getting fucked up and being driven around by some friends of his. In fact, it was virtually the same story as I had just told him, sans matching robbery suspects. The one difference began when he related the way in which the police had treated him.

"Yeah, and he told us to get out, frisked us, and searched the car. He found our tequila in there."

The ping-pong ball bounced slowly passed me as I tried to comprehend what he had just said. "Christ, man, that sucks."

"I had to spend the night in jail and was convicted of an MIP."

"What ?!?!" I searched desperately for a reason for this kind of punishment for such an innocent crime. And that was when it hit me ... he was a Native American.

"Who was with you?" He listed off a couple of Hispanic guys I knew. Both were decent fellows and had no prior record beyond my own. Not only had they been (excuse me) fucked with by the police because of their respective races, all had to face real legal consequences for less than what I had gotten away with.

The mix of emotions and questions which ran through my mind was astonishing. Almost too much. Rage at the system. How can we call ourselves a democratic nation based on equality when some get away with crimes and others do not? An amazing first sight of a wrong. How can the word equal even enter into any language describing our nation? Sadness. Why was an individual I liked and respected stratified into such a different class? Gratitude for never having to worry about going through the situation just described to me. Why did the society in which we lived have to separate us? Passion forcing me to do something. How could I accept this, in any way, shape, or form? What could I do? Guilt and shame for being one of the privileged few.

I frantically tried to place all my thoughts and emotions into words that simply failed to turn into anything coherent. I stammered for a good deal of time and, finally, the only sentence which I could articulate came out.

"I'm sorry."

In retrospect, I should have said something more. I wish I had advocated change. I wish I had been inspired to do something. I wish I had been active. Fought against the police. Fought against the system. But now, as I become more aware, I try to do something. Now, I make the effort to stand. Now, I make the effort to rise. Now, I take joy in the cause, itself.

[remo]