Preston Wilson wants Alex Bregman, Anthony Rizzo, Clayton Kershaw and the others to know how deeply he has been touched by them lending their voices to the fight for racial fairness. He won’t let an interview end without getting that on the record.

“I want to say thank you to all the white athletes that have used their voices to speak out on this,” Wilson said. “I want them to know. One of the greatest things has been Dale Murphy to step up and use his voice. I mean, for a man from that era who played in the South, that meant so much to me.

“I don't think you'll ever know. And we’ve seen prominent guys -- Bregman, Rizzo, others -- stand up and say something about this thing that's been plaguing our country forever. They’ve stood up and said, `This is wrong.’

“And I hope we continue to see it. That's something that was missing before. I want to applaud them for it, and I want to make sure that they see that it is appreciated, and it is noticed. It does mean something to feel like we can put on a uniform together.”

Wilson's perspective on George Floyd’s death and the demand for change it sparked, as well as the understanding of the need to have an open and honest debate on race in America, is unique.

First, Wilson is a second-generation Major Leaguer. His adopted father, Mookie Wilson, played 12 years in the Majors and was also the first Black player at the University of South Carolina.

Preston Wilson said he learned so many lessons from Mookie that have served him well. All of them begin with the fact that his father is one of the most decent and fair people he has known.

“My dad could connect with anybody,” Wilson said. “I watched him go about his business, treat everybody the same, give everybody a chance. He didn’t prejudge anyone. My dad was good friends with Bill Buckner [who infamously had a Wilson ground ball go between his legs in the 1986 World Series]. I don’t think a lot of people knew that. They talked all the time. They had plans to go fishing in Alaska right before he really got sick.” (Buckner died in 2019 of Lewy body dementia.)

As for Wilson, he has been active on social media in recent weeks, determined to do his part to bring about change. He played 10 seasons for six franchises from 1998-2007. He was part of clubhouses that were extremely close and welcoming of everyone. He had some unpleasant experiences, too, like the day he walked into a clubhouse and saw a white teammate holding a noose. The teammate thought it was a “joke,” and didn’t expect any of his non-white teammates to see it.

“He almost fainted when he saw me,” Wilson said.

Predictably, Wilson, 45, has felt a swirl of emotions in the wake of Floyd’s death and all that has followed.

“Man, I felt some of everything,” Wilson said. “I felt angry. I felt energized. I felt weary. I felt hopeful.”

Floyd's death was not the first videotaped murder of a Black man by police. Yet, this time, the reaction has been more powerful and sustaining. Why did Floyd’s killing strike such a nerve?

“That’s hearing a grown man cry out for his dead mother,” Wilson said. “He was asking for his mother, was screaming for his mother. There is something about that that cannot be wiped away. It touches you in a way that nothing else can, because we all feel our own mortality. We all see ourselves at that moment when we are about to expire, and we want to reach out for the thing that we came from.”

Wilson ticked off the names of other victims, from Freddie Gray to Walter Scott to Michael Brown.

“It's not new, right?” Wilson said. “This is the thing that I try to tell people. I understand that this is so heavy on you, because now you're just seeing it. These aren't just anecdotal stories.

“Now, you've actually seen it. Imagine how African Americans have been feeling for years when we've been going through this, and the response is, `All is well, this is just an isolated incident, a couple of bad apples.’

“There’s always some way to excuse it away as not being real, because it wasn't tangible. It was an abstract thought. Now, they’re seeing it, and that anxiety, that stress that they're seeing is what we've been living with every day. And they can't comprehend it.”

Wilson wonders if this moment in history is akin to the Berkeley protests of the Vietnam War or the Freedom Riders of the Civil Rights movement. Wilson remembers hearing about his grandfather, a farm worker in South Carolina, sent to the rear entrance of restaurants, the front door being reserved for white people.

“We have to start being honest with ourselves,” Wilson said. “Yeah, it makes us uncomfortable. But if the things that we're saying aren't matched by our actions, who are we? What are we doing? We're just gonna keep spinning our wheels."

Wilson points a finger at reporters, saying, “When there’s an incident, white players are never asked to weigh in. If we're all Americans, why do reporters never ask the white players? They’re part of America, too.

“If they don't want to make certain people uncomfortable -- and I get that -- but you have to look at what the other side of it is. I was told a long time ago, 'Your commitment to something is not based on what you're going to get out of it. Your commitment is something that's based on what you're willing to give up to get it.'”