I am heartbroken at the way people are acting these days. Young people randomly gathering shouting things of white power. Flyers being delivered around town spreading such lies of the negative effects on biracial children. My heart aches, the pain that one person can cause another. The pain that can occur from just existing. No one asked to be born the color they are, and likewise no one asked to be born into the family they belong to, or the community they live in. All any of us are trying to do is just live, and live the best we can. Why do people find it necessary to burden others with their judgements? Why must humans point out our differences like one is better than the other? No matter what color you are, you are beautiful, a masterpiece to be celebrated.

           I remember my trip to Ghana, I was overwhelmed with the beauty there. The country was beautiful, but the people were beautiful too. I traveled there to do a medical clinic to the area surrounding the local gold mine. The medical care these villagers received was 2-3 times a year when the clinics came in. I remember as I was talking to the clients in the heat, I noticed the wonderful, colorful pieces of cloth that was wrapped around their bodies. I often stared at the way the colors contrasted with the deep dark skin colors. Dark because of hard work, dark because of sun, dark because that was the blessing they were born in. I would catch myself gazing at the wonderful shades and the variation of pigment. Whenever I was caught, I would just smile and we would laugh. I loved touching them. We would shake hands, or I would touch their back or their shoulders, and these precious people would start to cackle in laughter. Once I was standing outside the clinic tent, and I felt a touch. I turned around and a lady was standing beside me but she was looking the other way. Another touch, and by the time I turned around, again this lady was still there, but looking at the goats running through our medical clinic. Then I felt a hand on my head, only this hand wasn’t going away, it began to ruffle my hair. I turned around to see this lady, that had been standing by me, now with her hand in my hair. She quickly removed it, and looked down in shame like a child caught being naughty. Quickly, I grabbed her hand and placed it in both of mine and began to laugh. The lady looked at me and smiled. Once we made eye contact, I took her hand and put it back on my head and ruffled my hair and we both cackled. The children of the area soon learned that I would let them rub my arms. They would rub my hairy arms and then laugh, some even looked to see if they could see the hair since the hair on my arms is fine and blonde. They would laugh and speak to each other in Twi and get several of their friends to come and give me a rub. We all laughed and then I had to go back to work.

         That is how life is supposed to be, accepting and joyful. Seeing the differences, because they are obvious, but appreciating them and learning their value. Some of the children of the villages, and adults for that matter, had never seen a person of my pigmentation up close. I remember their faces and can close my eyes to this day and see the joy and hear the laughter that gives me such a peace inside. These people did not have much according to worldly standards, but I think they were so much richer than most humans I know. They knew what was important, and they could truly see the beauty of every human work of art.