Today I had jury duty; while there I read “Between the World and Me”, a book by a black man from west Baltimore to his young son. I have never felt entirely comfortable in this white skin… like I was accidentally a part of some club I didn’t really belong in and would rather deny. I never felt comfortable in its privilege or its entitlement. I’m not sure how to give it away, and I know that many people, even my own family, don’t always understand. I’ve almost always fallen in love with men and women of color, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve thought brown skin to be the most lovely in all its shades and tones.

I don’t feel white, and yet here I am. When the world sees me, it sees a white man, given the benefit of the doubt. Doors are held open, and “sir” I am called. I don’t want it! All I have ever wanted was to be kind and equal. I’d rather face a firing squad than hold a gun, and I pray that I never change in this.

I’m not sure why I am writing this or what I intend to accomplish except maybe to say that I hope one day to raise a family that is not white or black but simply human. We will celebrate diversity and all the lovely flavors that she brings, but we will always, above all else, be love. I am human; you are human, and I love you.

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