The idea was an intriguing, slightly unnerving one: Given the chance, what would you most like to say to members of the other race?

We all dream of a bully pulpit. But climbing up into one can be a little daunting, especially on a topic as fraught with emotion as race in America.

But we took the challenge. It seemed a fitting way to wrap up the fourth and final installment of "Talking Race," our little experiment in racial dialogue.

Rather than bantering back and forth, we sat and wrote independently – no peeking at what the other had to say. (And how interesting that we began so similarly.)

So today we try to convey our deepest, most urgent thoughts to those across the racial divide.

Given the chance to say anything to African-Americans, I would start with just two words: I'm sorry.

I'm anguished that white America is responsible for so much hardship and misery in your history.

I'm sorry, too, that we sometimes expect a quick and easy fix to two and a half centuries of enslaving a people, followed by another full century of blatant, outright oppression.

And I'm sorry that a few whites are still filled with racial prejudice. I can't pretend they don't exist. But what I can tell you is that they don't matter anymore.

Truly, their views are irrelevant. The ship of enlightened thinking sailed long ago, and they just never got on.

I hope it's clear to you that hateful, racist words tell us plenty about the speaker and nothing about their target. The haters try to cover their own ignorance and insecurities by running down other people. Pay them no attention – except perhaps to pity them.

And with that recommendation, let me shift from apology to advice.

Of course, plenty of black folks don't need a word of my advice. They're doing just fine, thank you. Everywhere we look these days, we see black success stories. Hallelujah.

Their success demonstrates that barriers have fallen and opportunities exist like never before. But their success also starkly accentuates the sizable component of black America that has been unable to move forward.

If you feel like you're part of that group, especially if you are young, my thoughts are meant for you.

Far-fetched as it may seen, I want you to consider the possibility that some of your best friends are white people you don't know – and some of your worst enemies are the black people closest to you.

Sounds crazy, I know. But hear me out.

It may not be easy to see from where you sit, but trust me, there are huge numbers of white people rooting for you. There is this deep yearning to see success in all colors. We want to live in that kind of America.

There are schools and colleges eager to enroll you. There are companies eager to hire you. There are people eager to mentor and guide you. People want to see you succeed.

I'm not talking about gifts of any kind. I'm talking about opportunities to be earned through your hard work.

Remember, there was a second part to Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream – that his children would be judged by the content of their character. And make no mistake: You will be judged. But on your character, not your color.

It won't be easy and it won't be instant, but if you're ready to move forward, a lot of very sincere white folks stand ready to encourage and aid you.

Now, this part may be even harder to accept, but some of those nearest you pose the greatest obstacle to your success. It's a sad fact of human nature that we often resent success in those around us. Consciously or unconsciously, we work to undermine it.

If you begin that process of moving forward, other blacks may try to sabotage you. They may ridicule you for "acting white" or "selling out." They may suggest there's only one way to be authentically black.

Such manipulation is powerful. Many strong people have been toppled by it. Resisting it will be a real test of your character. But it can be done.

Look around at all the blacks you see leading solid, successful lives. They're not selling out. They're moving up.

If I could speak to black America, I would simply say: I'm sorry for the past. The future is up to you.

I've got two words for white America: Thank you.

Thanks for building homes in poor communities through programs such as Habitat for Humanity; for working with HIV/AIDS relief programs in places such as sub-Saharan Africa.

Thanks for mobilizing the Innocence Project, which is freeing wrongly convicted prisoners, many of whom are black.

When I see such noble efforts, when I witness men and women of all races working for a common good, my faith in humanity is restored.

Reminds me of my own childhood, a time when Jim Crow's calloused grip on our Southern lifestyles and customs could be seen in whites-only community centers, or in the segregated schools that survived well into my youth.

I can't forget that.

But it also was a time when more than a few white people availed themselves to me as coaches, mentors, teachers, friends – and heroes.

I can't forget that, either.

Those two seemingly incongruous images bespeak the layered complexity of America's race relations, which, despite the growing presence of Hispanics and other ethnic groups, still tends to be defined in black and white.

I wrestle mightily with the notion that many white people are growing tired of blacks dredging up our "painful past." Truth is, black folks get a little miffed when whites, whose triumphs and successes are well chronicled in history books, tell us, "Get over it!" Or "Move on!"

That task is as daunting as it is unrealistic for a people still piecing together its legacy.

I was struck by what Helen Biderman, an 80-year-old Jewish woman, said about Holocaust Remembrance Day. She was 11 when the Germans invaded Poland in 1939 and forced her family to live in a ghetto. Her family ultimately fled, with members at one point hiding in a chimney.

"It brings back the most terrible memories," Ms. Biderman said.

So why, you may ask, do she and Jews the world over put themselves through such a ritual? Because, as Ms. Biderman summed up: It's better to remember than forget.

No, blacks can't wallow in the past. We get that. Our past must be a foundation on which we stand, not a crutch on which we forever lean.

Yet, whites must understand that watching Roots is far from living Roots. Black folks can't just click on the remote and change the dynamic forces of history that thrust us into the 21st century, baggage and all.

To be clear, we don't mind talking about our problems: One in four black folks lives in poverty. One in five of us doesn't have health insurance. One in eight black males in their 20s is in prison.

It's so bad that even Bill Cosby has turned sour on a generation that won't even pull up its pants, let alone pull itself up by its bootstraps.

Here's the rub. So often when we hear our white friends talking about issues such as the number of black men in prison, they tend to deny any institutional culpability. They shrug off the gross disparities in arrests, convictions and incarceration that blacks face for some crimes, such as drug use. They blithely say, "Oh, well, you brought it on yourself."

We'd like for you to be as outraged, too, when you read that blacks make up 13 percent of all drug users but constitute more than a third of those arrested, more than half of those convicted and nearly three-fourths of those imprisoned.

That's not justice; that's "just us."

If I had white America's ear for a second, I would say black America is at a crossroads. We have more blacks in the middle class than ever before, and more blacks in the underclass than ever before.

So if you're going to talk about us – and we know you will – please tell both sides of our story.