On a Christmastime road trip to visit my grandfather in Abilene, Texas, in 1964, my family stopped into a cafe in Brady for lunch.
This was back in the days when we didn’t have to ask for a glass of water and bread was automatically served as the waitress (we didn’t call them servers back then for some reason) greeted us.
As we looked at the menus, I peered out the picture window and saw a car pull up.
A clean-dressed man, the driver, stepped out and motioned his family to stay there for a minute.
I watched this man take his hat off as he walked in the door and approached the man behind the counter. He politely whispered something to the man.
“Hell, no,” the man behind the counter said. “We don’t serve you here.”
The gentleman replied, “Yes, sir. God Bless” and walked out the door.
My father stood up and told us we were leaving. I didn’t understand what was going on. The man behind the counter asked if there was something wrong.
“If you won’t serve their family then you are not serving mine,” Daddy said and we followed him out. Mom, my sister Bobbi, and I went back in the car (no seat belts back then) while my father approached the black man before he reached his car. They talked a minute.
Dad drove to another restaurant and the black family followed. Dad went in and came back out. “Let’s go down the road.”
At the third restaurant, we had to go a block or two off the highway–to a restaurant my mother knew (she was born and raised in Brady)–before we found a cafe that would serve Blacks.
Our two families shared the same table and enjoyed an outstanding meal. After it was over our moms hugged each other. When we walked out the door, the man came back to my Dad and gave him a hug, a smile and a hearty pat on the back. Then we drove on to Grandpa’s.
Why do I still remember this man so vividly all these years later?
Was it because he was rich?
Was it because he was famous?
Or was it because of his brotherly love?
Christmas is a time of love.
Over the years I’ve been honored to meet some of the most humble, loving, and kind people like this father….and my Daddy.
People who inspire me to be a better person tomorrow than I am today.
Christmas is a time to reflect on the person we are and the person we would like to be.
(The picture of my family was taken in another visit to my Grandfather in his back yard, but it was seven years later in 1971).
☆☆☆☆☆
IN GOD WE TRUST
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CINDY LEAL MASSEY, TEXAS AUTHOR
Clever Journeys 
Sweet! May the Lord bless you and the ones you love!
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God Bless.
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What a great memory to have. Your Dad was an outstanding guy, from all the stories you tell.
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Jack, growing up in Fort Worth in the 1950s, I saw this many times. Not everyone was on board with it, but it was the norm for the times in the south. My grandfather was much like your father. Times have changed, but I fear we are going backwards, not forward when it comes to discrimination, on both sides. Sad times these days.
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That’s what social engineers like Obama want.
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