We smiled and nodded a lot, but we still connected in our own manner
Photo: Freeimages.com – Tom Low
I relish the quiet of a predawn run. Focus on the cadence of my footfalls, breathe the crisp morning air.
I pass the local technical college and notice an older gentleman, leaning on a pillar. He sports glasses; his frame, slight, thin; grey hair combed over scalp. Stares into the ether of a dewy sky.
. . .
Rejecting my ethnicity exposed a childhood insecurity with being different
“Dad, why do you look different from us?” my son asked, over dinner.
“Whaddya mean?” I replied, glancing at some stir-fried bok choy.
“You're darker than us,” he said, comparing my skin tone to his and his brother’s. “Why is that?”
“Um,” I stuttered, “the ingredients that A-Kong and A-Ma made me with are a bit different than the . . .