Bravery I thought I was brave with the scars to prove it. My legacy - broken bones, split knuckles, black eyes and loose teeth. Adulation and respect. I fought both man and isms Never backed down. But a black man, driving an Uber taught me the truth of true bravery. Harassed, insulted, threatened by a low-life passenger, white racism covered in a cheap suit and tie, he refused to take the bait. He denied himself the pleasure of justified violence. He told me his story - and anger for him, righteous indignation, crashed over me in furious waves. I admonished him for not confronting that mans ignorance with a closed and determined fist. Never back down, right? Gently, he spoke the truth of black men in America. His eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror. You, he said, are innocent until proven guilty. Protected by a system that oppresses me. I am guilty - period - and would be lucky to be arrested, not killed, in a confrontation with that bigot. So he did nothing, let the swine in a tie off at his destination, and drove on - leaving that pig to wallow in his hate. His bravery earned him nothing. No adulation. No respect. No recognition. Nothing except another day of life. Another day with his family. In contrast - my lifetime of bravery. A pale reflection, when set beside his truth. He was brave, not I. My self-styled bravery, forever tainted by my privilege.