To That Woman,
I saw you. I saw the way you nudged your husband when we sat down. I saw the glare you gave the woman who just wanted to share a family dinner with us. I saw you laugh. I saw you whisper.
I smiled at your daughter when she looked over, even as I held back the sting in my chest. I bit my tongue, swallowed the words I wanted to spit back, and even kept myself from tossing that basket of chips at your table.
I’m not blind to racism. I’ve braced myself for it more times than I can count. But what cuts the deepest is knowing that the man sitting across from me—the most gentle, loving, kind-hearted soul I’ve ever known—has to carry the burden of constantly proving himself, simply because he chose me.
And I don’t care how old you are, what “generation” you come from, or where you were raised—tell me, at what point did someone poison you enough to believe that skin color defines a person’s worth?
You say “it hurts the children.” You’re right—it does. But not my children. The ones who are really hurting are yours—the children forced to grow up learning hate from the people who should be teaching them love.
And to the next person who tries me—let’s just say, I won’t be holding back the chips.
Credit: Kayla Cofield
