“We talked about my job, his job, travel, art.”

“And no discussion on what had taken place earlier?”

Bette shook her head.  “No.  I couldn’t do it.”

“You were upset, though?”

“Very much.”

“How long did you dine with your father?”

“A couple of hours.”

“And when you returned home, what did you say to Tina?”

“She was asleep.  I just changed and went to bed.”

“The next morning, did you talk about what had taken place?”

Bette answered quietly, “No.”

“Why?”

“She didn’t mention it, so I didn’t.”

“Why did Tina have to mention it first, Bette?”

“Well, she took the worst of it from him.  In fact, after she left, Daddy and I got along fine.”

“Bette, let’s move on from that for a second.  I’m interested in your description of your father as hero.  What makes him a hero?  What do you admire about him?”

There was so much in Bette’s life that she never talked about.  Memories were like snapshots in her mind of places long ago and events past.  Her childhood had been one of privilege in Philadelphia.  That was her father’s doing.  He had been successful and sent his daughters to the best private schools, but there were also memories of name-calling, hatred, threats, and confrontations.  She remembered her father standing tall and proud as he dealt with insults hurled at him by strangers.  Mostly, Bette remembered how Melvin stood up to any and everyone who threatened his family.  “You’d think that in the late 60s, early 70s, people would be enlightened, but they weren’t.  My first recollection that we were different was when I was eight.”

“Go on.”

“Different–a Black father, a white mother, a chocolate-colored daughter, and me.  Once, we went to this restaurant and waited for service.  We waited about 40 minutes and people who had come in after us were being served.  My father asked for the manager and when he arrived at our table, the manager smiled at the whole family.  I smiled back and even tried to grab his hand.  I was only eight or so.  He seemed so friendly as he leaned on the table to talk to my father.  Daddy told him the problem and the manager nodded and said that someone would be with us shortly.”  Bette rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger.  “The manager said, “We’ll get to you after all the White people have been served.  That’s the way we do it here.  If you, your ***** loving wife, and your half white kids want to go somewhere else you know where the door is.”