trying to tread lightly and not get too cranky is enough exercise for any one day

I'm a sucker for the small act of bravery. Nice - nice is easy. No wonder everyone recommends it: pick a text-book example, do it, and get warm smiles, a pile of compliments and even the occasional embrace. Every body walks away happy and, sometimes, smug.

Bravery's something else. I used to think it was a peculiar gift of Americans, to be brave. I used to think we were tuned into injustice and that we, frankly, would not let it stand. Not because we were nice. God no. But because we understood, collectively, that an injustice visited us all. Know what I mean?

Actually, I still believe that. I still see that injustice compromises a community. I'm not so sure people even bother with justifying or rationalizing or figuring out a way to excuse themselves, but when they are witness to an episode and take no action, it seems to bruise them. It twists some chord inside that links them to the truth.

I'm guessing. I don't know what really happens. I know what happens in me. And I know what people say after the fact: they wish they'd said something. They wish they'd done something. They wish they'd intervened. They wish they'd nipped something in the bud. The wish is sacrificed to the rule of niceness.

I am not brave, not unless you use a relative measure, in which case I'm plenty brave. But I'm not, so ... there you go. When I step up to the plate, I put little at risk. That's not to say I calculate. That's to say I get it, ahead of time: I'm pretty well protected. Quick review of recent episodes: the only thing I had to fear losing was the appearance of friendship, cozy commeraderie (or however that's spelled). In my life, that's a perfect litmus test, conducted in less time than it takes to type it out.

Rosa Parks was brave. Really, really brave. Seems she got way more than her fair share of virtues, because all accounts have her being really nice too.

I was raised not to think of Rosa Parks as a hero, but as what I should model myself after. A hero would have made her mythic and let me curl up to nice stories of 'what she did.'

No, I was taught to aim for half her bravery. And to not ever ever read bravery and social justice as a question of protecting anyone. My childhood was populated by people like Dick Gregory and Wilma Rudolph and Ted Wheeler - they sure as hell didn't need protection. They needed just a little bravery.

We get more spineless, more testicle-less (?) by the second. Rosa Parks died and the press ran out to get comment; a common theme was/is how magnificent, that the common woman/man could make such a difference.

Step away from the hallmark fucking greeting card. Her act, her life was bigger than that. And she was no common woman. No she was not.