Race

Then he asked her to explain racism, which translated poorly into his language as hatred of the difference in the hue of the fruit on a single branch.

She struggled for the words to explain.

“Well, as you can see,” she said, “my husband Rufus has dark skin and my skin is pale.”

“Frecked,” he corrected.

“Well, okay, but see, Rufus and I are considered to be from different races, uhm, er, from different family trees, understand? And this causes a problem for some people down there.”

He snorted.

“You are pulling my leg, right? I’m no pinhead. You come from the same racing fruit tree, or whatever you call it. You are both mans. A little female man and a little man man.”

They both laughed at that but for different reasons; he at the truth in it, and she for the irony of it.

Even an oaf can understand that, she mused.

--Every Boy Should Have a Man, page 138



O Lord, bless us as a nation, and touch each of our hearts with love. Let us see the truth in each of our notions of race, and let us see the irony of it. Let us like the simple oafs see that we, on both sides of the issue, come from the same branch on the same tree.