She'd borrowed volumes of bound funeral notices from an area funeral parlour and was thumbing through the pages contentedly as I approached. 
 
"What are you reading?" I asked, cocking my head to see a page. "Funeral notices?" 
 
She explained that she was combing through these and other artifacts to document the deaths of people-of-color in our area over the past century. 
 
I asked if she intended to use her research to support any particular position or hypothesis. 
 
"No," she answered. "I just want to know that they were here. Someday other people will want to know too." 
 
"Well then good luck," I said, turning away from the table. "Yours is an interesting and noble hobby." 
 
As I walked away my daughter complained, "I don't know why you have to pick fights with everyone you meet. Sometimes people are just doing what they're doing to be doing what they're doing." 
 
"No. People are never just doing what they're doing to be doing what they're doing," I replied, "and it's our job to point that out."