“Langston, I can’t tell you how excited I am that you’re running for Congress,” Mr. Donaldson said as he buttered his bread. “And it’s no secret that I will pledge my support, both moral and financial. I met with the board and we’ve decided to donate a very generous amount.”

“How generous?”

“Let’s just say, if for some reason you’re not elected into Congress, it won’t be for lack of finances.”

“Thank you, sir.” He sat almost teary eyed, in a state of manufactured emotion.

“You’re welcome! I think it’s time the halls of Congress became more diversified. More integrated. Langston, I see you as a trendsetter. Like Tiger Woods and the Williams sisters. When you’re elected, you’ll have an opportunity to make your people very proud.”

“If you’re referring to the American people, I have every intention of making the American people, of which I am one, very proud,” Langston responded.

Uh oh. I could tell his response was the calm before the storm. Hopefully for the sake of his election, Mr. Donaldson would leave the subject alone.

“Right. But I was speaking about black people specifically.” I had feared as much. Mr. Donaldson wasn’t going to leave it alone. “Not only can you do for politics what Tiger Woods and the Williams sisters have done for golf and tennis respectively, you can give your community something to cheer about.”

“I live in Georgetown,” Langston offered, not once blinking an eye, shifting in his seat, gearing up for the debate. “Georgetown represents my community. Tiger Woods lives in a Bel Air estate and represents that community, Bel Air. The Williams sisters, who keep a residence in Compton, represent their community.”

At this time I was silently praying to myself, asking God to end this debate and return peace and tranquility to our table.

“So are you saying that because of Tiger Woods’ social or economic status that he is no longer relevant to those of like skin color?” Mr. Donaldson asked. I could see him become more noticeably and curiously perched in his seat. Prayer denied.

“Well, first you have to determine Tiger Woods’ true color.”

Now I was really confused. I always thought Tiger Woods was black. He had big lips, big teeth, and pimp-walked around the green like Iceberg Slim at the Players Ball. So, he must be black.

“What makes Tiger Woods black…” Langston continued, “…would it be his passion for things that directly pertain to the condition, the consciousness, and the upward mobility of the Black race as a whole.”

Amused at the absurdity of his statement, I offered my own response, hoping to lighten the mood. “What would make Tiger Woods black is that plate of collard greens and neck bones his grandmama cooks on Thanksgiving.”