Class Merge

Yesterday afternoon as I boarded the 12:55 westbound #50, the bus that travels between Grand Valley State University’s Allendale and downtown Grand Rapids campuses, with my Air-Force Ones’ untied, shorts sagging slightly below my waist, and Lupe Fiasco’s sophomore album “The Cool” blaring through my headphones, an older gentlemen noticed the distinguished polar bear mascot on my t-shirt and grabbed my arm. “You played football for Creston?” he asked.

He was short in stature and neatly dressed with his polo tucked into his khakis, an old leather belt wrapped around his thin waist, and brown loafers on his feet. Feeling obligated, I sat next to the man and began a casual conversation. His soft voice was difficult to decipher from the hushing vibrations of the bus’s motor. “I played at Creston back in 1948.” His name was Fred and at 80 years old this man was 60 years my elder. Fred, a retired engineer, began telling me how rising gas prices had encouraged his trial with public transportation. “You gotta get one of those hybrid cars,” I told him. He responded with a laugh, “At 80, I’m not likely to see a return on my investment.” Continuing the conversation I discovered that he was volunteering at an engineering camp for middle and high-school aged kids, and that he himself worked for an aero-manufacturing plant some 30 years ago, before his job was shipped to China. “We just can’t compete,” he said, noting the trend of corporations taking advantage of low wage labor in developing countries.

This chance encounter was intriguing because Fred and I would be considered completely and utterly opposite in so many ways. He is white and I am black. He is old and I am young. What possibly could we have in common? Certainly, if politically engaged, he would be a supporter of Senator McCain. Given the slim chance that I, an urban African American male might be politically active, surely I would be a supporter of Senator Obama.

The chances of Fred knowing the lyrics to my favorite Kanye West song or how to use my iPod were slim to none. The chances of me being able to identify with the rising costs of his daily medication were non-existent. The chances of the two of us finding commonality on any level were minimal. Yet there we sat noticing the same issues facing this country; over-dependence on foreign oil, jobs being deported to countries like China and India, the modernization of those countries, and the vulnerability of America’s manufacturing and labor sectors.

The sight of us talking must have been oxymoronic for on-looking riders.

The daily commute to and from class has facilitated my observation of what seems to be the beginning of a cultural shift in America. Gas prices are one factor increasing the interaction amongst members from opposite sides of the economic spectrum (even if this interaction only takes place on the turf of the poor). This, if nowhere else, can be observed in the seats of the city’s public transportation.

It’s not so unusual now to see inner city kids carrying backpacks, iPods, and basketballs riding alongside businessmen wearing suits and carrying Blackberries and briefcases. Nursing students are sitting next to elderly women traveling to medical appointments. Single mothers are making their weekly commutes to the grocery store while couples are heading downtown for a night out.

America’s middle-class is suddenly riding right next to America’s lower-class.

Evidently a struggling economy does not discriminate on the basis of race, gender, age, or ethnicity. Its reach misses few, and those that cannot escape its grasp are all lumped into the same boat…or bus, if you will.