My New York friend just posted pictures of what it was like when President Trump went home to the Big Apple a few days ago.

In her video I caught a glimpse of Tiffany’s with its elegant blue canopies. That was my favorite “take a break and lunch with me” stop with an old friend who worked there. I hear they have lost business because of round-the-clock security for Trump Tower only a few steps away.

I remember sunny spring days in Manhattan, walking on 5th Avenue, stopping for a Sabrett’s hotdog and sauerkraut near the Met or indulging in tea and crumpets at the Stanhope across the street.

It made me sad to see portions of 5th closed and under heavy guard, with New York Police District horses deployed to restrict access. I heard loud protesters giving voice to their disgust over the recent hate rampage in Virginia.

Former President Barack Obama, in reaction to the racist turmoil, quoted Nelson Mandela:

“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”

How do we do that? We must revisit Scripture.

No one is born racist

This latest uprising that left one dead in Charlottesville revived the photograph of a rally in downtown Gainesville, Georgia in 1992.

It shows state troopers standing guard, and a little child wearing a Ku Klux Klan robe and headdress, innocently looking at his own reflection on one of their riot shields. The caption reads, “No one is born racist.”

I remember a song from “South Pacific”: “You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear/ You’ve got to be taught from year to year/ It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear/ You’ve got to be carefully taught/ You’ve got to be taught to be afraid/ Of people whose eyes are oddly made/ And people whose skin is a diff’rent shade/ You’ve got to be carefully taught/ You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late/ Before you are six or seven or eight/ To hate all the people your relatives hate/ You’ve got to be carefully taught.”

The best description of hate comes from Preacher Henry Emerson Fosdick: “Hating people is like burning down your own house to get rid of a rat.”

Hatred is all around us. It is not confined to a specific country or people. It seems to be in the air we breathe.

Will it be the legacy of this generation? I pray not.

Table talk

There was a birthday celebration. At a table for six (all seniors), the conversation was depressing: doctors, prescriptions, ailments, aches and pains.

Finally one lady stood up. “Can we stop moaning and groaning? So we have canes and wheelchairs. So what. We’re all still here, right? Cheers!”

And she chugalugged her margarita.

I moved to the next table and caught the tail-end of a discussion about the high profile marital scandal in the headlines. We know this story is not about to die down any time soon, at least not until there is better (or worse) earthshaking news-breaker.

Still at the party we noticed a well-dressed gentleman and his wife seated across from us talking quietly and sipping wine. It was just the two of them.

He was until recently, an important government official, always surrounded by armed security escorts and a gaggle of people who lavished him with attention and hung around him, just content to be breathing the same rarified air.

What happened?

The wind changed direction. And so did his followers. It is that simple.

The carousel stops

Where do you go when the spotlight is turned off and your name is removed from the marquee? When the long queues have dissipated and no one comes to pay homage? When the hosannas have ceased? What happens when the merry-go-round stops spinning?

The once fawning, adoring fans are gone. They now bask in somebody else’s reflected glory.

And you, who once thought you were invincible, are left alone and wondering why.

In Spanish, they say, “A rey muerto, rey puesto.”

Literally it means, “At the time of a dead king, a king is put in position.” In other words, “the King is dead, long live the King.” Out with the old, on with the new.

This is a fact of life: nothing is forever. When someone else becomes numero uno, no one even remembers your name.

When your power is gone, the true colors of the people around you are revealed and you will know who your real friends are. Prepare to count them on one hand.

No loss

You will feel betrayed and think you have lost it all.

But take heart. The leeches, users and opportunists have left you to mooch on someone else. You have lost nothing at all.

There’s a lesson here, somewhere.

But our memories are short and we are flawed human beings who, at the first whiff of wealth or power, lose our bearings and imagine ourselves at one with the gods.

I have lived long enough to see this happen, several times, up close and very personal. It is not pretty. And it hurts!

But trust me, you’ll live. And you will learn. And you will be all the better for it. Promise!