I've been thinking about how to approach this topic for a bit now, or if I should even mention it at all. Things of this nature become ingrained to the person experiencing them but are sometimes a shock to those on the outside. Then, the person who is involved becomes angry at the other person's shock because they have been living this life.It is no longer foreign or strange. As accepted to them as their favorite drink or the air they breathe. This could cover a variety of topics in relationships. Who you love defines who you are. That is why people feel the need to judge you based on who you share your daily life with. This is why (I believe) people feel so strongly about having an opinion on other people's lives. Myself, I am pretty easy-going. Love whom you wish and be kind to other people is what I believe.

All of this to get to the statement that my husband is brown. Indian to be exact (the country) When I first met him, I did not know what race he was. In Texas, he was commonly thought to be Hispanic. I didn't think he was but with his tall frame, broad shoulders, big brown eyes and long eyelashes I knew I was a goner. When I asked where he was from, he replied Maryland and that was enough for me. Now we are married with a daughter. I love my in-laws, get along famously with them and find them to be some of the kindest, most accepting people I have ever met. They are a rarity among any race, a family that has accepted almost every race and ethnicity into their fold. When the youngest generation is out on the town we resemble the bennaton ads from the 80s. We are a blend of white, various shades of brown, Asian, and African America. I love this, and I often forget that I am the minority in this family. That is why I try and include brown children in my illustrations.


Today, the attacks on the London subway station reminded me of how hate can go in many directions. I feel so much grief for these innocent people who died because of nothing of their own doing. They were going to work, trying to lead their lives. Someone felt they should die to prove a point. Fanaticism scares me because of the lengths a belief can take you to. People can hate you for what you look like, what you believe or where you live. This act of pure hatred can set off many more, now it is almost automatic now to look out of the corner of your eye at someone who is brown or looks in any way suspicious. Even I have to fight these urges, when some of the people I love most dearly are brown. I do not know how to resolve this, I do not know how to protect my daughter from any prejudice she will face as she gets older. I just know I will try to teach her that hatred is something that festers inside and has nothing to do with your outside appearance. I will try and teach her that kindness and love have no color or shape, are simply emotions that can affect this world much more strongly that anything else.