A question for Sherman.

Sherman, the lone black man in my neighborhood, has moved away. Same goes for his significant other. A white woman. I like that blend. Black and white. Don’t know where they went. Only that they cleaned house pretty good. Filled a huge dumpster. Looks like tons of stuff. Didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. Missed the opportunity to inquire, and satisfy my curiosity. Sherman gave me the illusion that I live in an integrated neighborhood.  He was our token black guy. We have a few people of Asian descent. And a Brazilian.  Sherman is a big, burly fella. A nice cordial guy.  Conversant. About his experiences with racism. In America, one can’t escape racism. Sherman learned to deal with it. Because he had to. In order to be happy.  Got his solace, I think, from life’s little pleasures. Such as his cockerspaniel. A constant companion. At his side almost all the time. Sherman had health problems in recent years. A stroke. But that didn’t deter him.  He remained active. I’ll inquire. About where he’s relocated. And why. I’d like to stay in touch. I’ve meant to ask Sherman how he became Sherman. Maybe he was named after the famous Civil War general.  –Jim Broede