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I lay between my two girls. On my left, my own daughter
peacefully sleeps while drooling on my chest. On my right, is my "adopted
daughter," Rochelle, sleeping soundly while snoring loudly. Rest will not meet
me this evening and my mind wanders as both girls cuddle closer to me.
I love being a mother; this, above all, is my life. I have
had many successes in my life but the birth of my daughter has been the
greatest achievement of all.
I love learning with her and I love seeing the world through
her eyes--a carefree world full of love, hope and dreams.
Unlike many my age, I have lived a sheltered life. Apart
from my brother-in-laws suicide four years ago, I have never known violence or
hatred...
...until a few weeks ago, when an associate had called me a
racist because I resist the charms of Obama.
I have never thought of racism until that moment and tonight
it haunts me.
I quietly snuggle away from my "sleeping beauties" as I
gently kiss them both and leave them to dream their pretty dreams. Before
leaving their room, I turn towards them and study the girls: as if on cue, they
wrap their arms around each other as they descend further into sleep. My baby,
white as snow, snuggles her head in Rochelles dark, black, velvety neck.
Smiling in her sleep, Rochelle hugs my Laura tighter and snores even louder.
Tears fill my eyes as I witness the purity of their
innocence. Will it always be this simple for them?
I hope so, but am not so sure.
Hatred stalks us in the most unexpected places.
I wonder if those who bury hatred in their hearts remember
what being a child is like. Children do not see differences; their choices are honest and pure. They argue and make
up five minutes later. When they disagree or dislike someone there usually is a
reason; race is hardly a decision maker...
...unless an adult is involved.
Adults have the "gift" of pointing out differences that
children just don't notice.
Last week the girls were playing Monopoly with their friend,
Ariella. Ariella was cheating and the girls became angry. I heard them fighting, but
left them to work it out themselves. Later that day, one mother told me the girls should know better.
"Know better? They're only nine years old and Ariella was cheating."
"Oh, Ariella has muscular dystrophy and should be treated
differently."
Not in this house. They play, they fight, they love and
they accept. Ariella is their friend and that's all there is to it. And,
according to Laura and Rochelle she was
cheating; I guess she won't be
the banker next time.
I think they're a lucky pack, if you ask me. These children
see no differences in each other and I love each of them intensely.
I've kissed boo-boo's on white, black, yellow and dirty
knees. Boo-boo's are boo-boo's and they all
need kisses.
And, yes, at times, I yell. Do they feel threatened? Not at
all -- I'm probably the biggest "push-over" in the neighborhood.
But they are safe in our home.
I, personally, think God delights
in their innocence and probably would agree that Ariella shouldn't be the
banker and that Jayden, who is Aisan, definitely teases too much.
Is there something I'm not
getting?
Why can't we disagree without it becoming personal? Why do
people assume things they know nothing
about?
Naive, perhaps, but I believe, there is only one race: the
human race. Caucasians, Africans, Asians,
Indians, Arabs, Jews, etc., are not
different races. Rather, they are different ethnicities of the human race. All
human beings are created in the
image and likeness of God (Genesis
1:26-27).
God does not show partiality or favoritism (Deuteronomy
10:17), and neither should we. But this is something that can't be preached; it
must be "felt" just as children feel.
Racism, in varying forms and to various degrees, has been a
plague on humanity for thousands of years. Maybe it's time we look more towards
our children to learn acceptance and unconditional love. |
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