To that woman,
I saw you. I saw the way you elbowed your husband when we sat down. I saw your glare toward the woman simply trying to share a family dinner with the man she loves. I saw you laugh. I saw you whisper.
I smiled at your daughter when she looked our way. Meanwhile, I held back my hurt. I held back the sharp words. I even held back the basket of chips I wanted to throw at your table.
I’m not oblivious to racism—I’ve prepared myself for it. What breaks me is knowing that the most gentle, kind, loving man I’ve ever met will always feel pressure to “prove himself,” simply because he chose me.
I don’t care how old you are, what generation you grew up in, or where you’re from—when did someone teach you that skin color defines a person’s morals?
You said, “It hurts the children.” You’re right, it does. But not my children. The children who are truly hurting are the ones being raised by people who think like you.
And to the next person who tries me—just know, next time, I’m not holding back the chips.
Credit: Kayla Cofie
