When I first became a road salesman (peddler, if you will), one my first customers was the Afro-American (term in vogue then) owner of a furniture store. Over the years as territories changed and businesses moved, he and I would cross paths, and he was again a customer of mine at the time I retired.

A few years ago, a very hot, summer day in the valley, I walked into his store. He was wearing a colorful dashiki and matching skull cap.

"When did you start doing the African thing?" I asked on greeting him.
"Well, if you haven't noticed after all these years..." he answered with a huge smile.
"Oh, I've noticed, alright," I said, "but this is the first time in over thirty years I've seen you attired in other than a dapper, double-breasted suit."

He was one person I felt comfortable speaking of race with, but somewhat guardedly.