500 Words A Day - Woman 2

Woman 2In an informal vote, it was unanimously agreed that she stood among them as the least likely to marry, much less have kids. But she did. She was the first to have them and they were to grow up under a canopy of lemon and avocado trees. Their classes would be teaming with predominately brown-skinned kids helping them to remain completely unmolested by the interracial dalliance that was, in part, their parent’s relationship. One day her young son would exclaim the question “Wait, I’m black?” Doesn’t that say it all? He was not unhappy about it, just delightfully surprised. His skin color had not betrayed him. His skin was not the enemy. His comfort with himself and how the world looked upon him the likely result of all those movements, protests, Bennington commercials and Fat Albert; He did not feel any pressure to assimilate. No apology in the back of his throat. He walked curly headed and striking to school without a whiff of insecurity. Entitled and richly unaware. It was not 1969 anymore. As for his sister, she was brave. Brown-eyed and deeply curious about the world of emotions and the influence of sharp interpersonal skills on the lives of her family members. She was born with her eyes wide open. Blinking when confronted with the attention of an adult and shy with strangers. She would, throughout most of her live, be mistaken for just another pretty girl and, in doing so, kept the bulk of her intelligence invisible and close to her chest. She stood up straight, the silky haired girl with the blinding smile. A supreme intellectual at 8 years old, a tomboy at recess, an eavesdropper of her parent’s tug-o-war.