The A-rab Store

In Cleveland in the mid 80’s, a lot of the neighborhood grocery stores that had been owned by Blacks were sold to Arab merchants. In my neighborhood, there remained one Black-owned store, ran by Mr. Bell, whose business I had frequented since before I was even old enough to go to the store by myself.

Mr. Bell’s had sold his original store too, but he had opened up a smaller one on the adjacent corner. Both the old and new stores were open for business simultaneously with the old one being run by its new Arab owners.

Long before political correctness, we distinguished the two stores by referring to the old store as the Arab store, actually, The A-rab store. This is what we kids had learned to call it from those much older than us.

Fast forward to 1988, I was in 8^th grade. I sat in the cafeteria with my friends, discussing boys, makeup, and the usual things Jr. High School girls talked about. I then pulled out a pack of candy to pass around. I don’t remember what kind it was, but it was new to my friend Jenna, who lived in my neighborhood.

“Where did you get this?” She asked.

“From the A-rab store,” I said, and then my heart stopped.

Our Lebanese friend, Manal was sitting across the table. I cringed inside. I was finally old enough to realize how offensive it was to refer to the store by that name. We had all been talking amongst ourselves and I prayed that Manal hadn’t heard or understood what I said.