When I chose to have children I had to consider whether they would be white or they would have my color. I am not indian, not black, nor am I white. I am all of these colors mixed up inside. The children would suffer at the hands of their peers, my heart a flutter, the worst of my fears. When I did have children they came out white. I rejoiced in thinking they would not suffer racism’s fight. As they got older, I found I was wrong, racism repeating that terrible song. I guess it did not matter if I made them dark or light. I am their mother and they joined my fight.
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Trouble at the Tea Leafing Café
The rain had started right around the time that Annie was buttering her second thick slice of homemade toast for breakfast, and hadn’t paused since. Not that anyone could tell. The windows of the café were fogged over, and with every seat filled with happy customers munching on fresh baked pastries or steaming bowls of the delicious soup of the day, it was hardly surprising. Annie looked around the room, finally taking a moment to breathe after the lunch time rush. Her old life already felt like a bad memory, a part of her history, always, but just that. History.
By Hannah Moore4 days ago in Fiction
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