We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto

Yesterday, a former student and I went searching for birthday cards at the Hallmark in the larger town next to the tiny town where my small college on the hill is located. I was particularly interested in the Maya Angelou collection, which is always lovely both aesthetically and in terms of the written thoughts it offers.

"We've discontinued that line," the attendant at the store said after I inquired.

"Do you mean Hallmark has discontinued the line, or this store?" I asked to know more precisely.

"This store," she said, a little defensively. "Not a lot of people got them so the store doesn't buy them anymore."

This area of Ohio is clearly 99.9999999% white so it might not be surprising that people here wouldn't buy the Angelou cards but I was still a little taken aback.

"This town is simply too white," I murmured while the attendant, now somewhat apologetically, went to find me the one last remaining Angelou card in the store: one expressing sympathy. I thanked her, but said: "No, thanks," and moved on to peruse the funny Hoops and Yoyo section to see if I found anything remotely adequate for what I wanted.

On my way there I passed the large "Christian Sentiments" section of cards, which I'd never noticed at any of the city Hallmarks I'm used to shopping at, and then I was reminded how Christianity in these parts trumps diversity.

It was one of those "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto" moments when you realize you're no longer in (or remotely near) the place where you come from.

Oh, well. That's part of the price one pays for moving to a small place like this, I know. But when that price becomes that evident, even in a simple moment like this when I can't find the type of greeting card I want for what might just be a somewhat racist reason (after all, the Angelou cards are not just for people of color, right?), I get an uneasy feeling.

Where there is light, there is shadow (and vice versa), I remind myself. And I know I can always find my favored Angelou cards at the Hallmark near my old tiny city, or at the mall, or at any of the places where people of color exist in enough numbers that Angelou (and, with her, the recognition that not all in this world is whiteness) cannot be discarded.