So Henry Lewis Gates Jr. is the new face of racial profiling in America.

Pardon me in advance for my skepticism.

Gates, a distinguished professor of history at Harvard University, was arrested last week after forcing his way into his own home in Cambridge, Mass.

Police went to the house after a woman called 911 to report what she thought was a burglar breaking in.

When an officer ordered the man inside to identify himself, Gates allegedly refused, according to the police report. Police allege that Gates also called the officer a racist and said repeatedly, "This is what happens to black men in America."

Officers said they tried to calm down the 58-year-old academic, who responded, "You don't know who you're messing with," according to the police report.

Gates was arrested, charged with disorderly conduct, and released some four hours later.

As news of the encounter spread, Gates’ recollection of what transpired seemed to improve. His attorney, Charles Ogletree, issued a statement days later that was far more favorable to his client.

Gone was any mention of Gates’ alleged insolence.

It reminded me of what could have been my own near-Gates experience a few years back.

My security company called me at work one day to say my burglar alarm was going off. When I arrived at my home in a largely white section of southeast Charlotte, I found my front door slightly ajar.

As I began a search of the house, gun in hand, a Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police officer came to the front door, which I’d left open to facilitate a fast escape for me or for burglar, whichever needed it most urgently.

This is going to be bad, I thought, noticing the officer’s youthful appearance and white skin.

I put down the gun – in plain sight -- and went to the door.

The officer, still standing outside, listened courteously as I explained that I was the homeowner and what had happened.

He asked to see some identification then asked if he could come inside. I readily agreed to both. It seemed to put him at ease when he saw a dining room wall festooned with pictures of my African American family members.

Confident now that I was, in fact, the rightful owner, he asked if he could finish checking the house with me, and again I agreed. He paused to take note of the gun but said nothing.

No burglar was found and no property was taken. The door, improperly closed, apparently had come open after the alarm was set.

As the officer took leave of my home that day, he thanked me and I thanked him – each of us no doubt relieved that there had been no unfortunate escalation.

As for Gates, I can’t say what happened in his home last week. I’m not so naive as to think that every police officer would act as professionally as the one who came to my house. But I’ve also had enough encounters to know that most are good and decent.

It should surprise no one  -- not even Skip Gates -- that a responsible police officer, answering a possible breaking-and-entering call, would want to see identification from a lone man found inside said house.

I suspect the difference between Gates’ encounter and mine might have boiled down to mutual respect. I respected the officer who came to my house and he, in return, respected me.