Written by Kim Vinyard
My name is Kim.
I am.. a wine lover. Sister. Boy mom. Creme brûlée appreciator. Wife.
Sometimes too quick to form an opinion. Trying to get better about that.
Always being and becoming!
I am a kind social butterfly. Jesus lover. Soul lifter. A servant. Gift giver. A vault with your secret. I am a word maker upper and a class clown. A Libra so I’m strong willed.
I am working on being just a little more refined but I am also a protector so don’t mess with me - or my people.
I am a smallish town girl. Where I grew up was tight knit. My dad accepted a better job after the military. We moved from Pasadena to San Diego. Apartments to a suburb.
I was seven. No joke, a little scary. At first.
There was a sprinkling of “flavor” in my neighborhood. Some Hispanics, some Asians.
As a senior I was voted ASB president of my mostly white high school. Oh yeah, I didn’t mention. I am… a black woman. We were one of three families with dark color in our whole community. With only the occasional show of ignorance, my color didn’t matter. I was accepted as me. Just me.
Some in black culture would call that being “white washed”.
My father called it education, discipline and speaking English.
I guess I should also add, that part about being a wife, it’s to a cop, who is white.
He is… compassionate. Hard-working. Generous. Loyal. Goofy. He thinks he’s funny.
He loves me. I’ll take it.
His career has been to protect and to serve.
All colors, cultures and lifestyles. Different levels of crime and violence.
This serving and protecting is saving people from themselves, but also from evil only he, co-workers and victims really see.
He’s come home with cuts and bruises on his face, his elbows, his hands. Rips in his uniform. Sometimes tears in his eyes.
When he kisses us and walks out. We know EACH time is possibly the last. Goodbye.
Not many risk their lives to go to work. Even less met with hate just for the uniform they wear.
These days he fights being bitter. Someone else ruined his good reputation.
Our boys are… the most beautiful browns. Light toast, tanned leather and coffee bean.
Not white enough to be white, black enough to be black, they’ve settled in somewhere with the Polynesian kids and computer geeks. I have to say, I have had fear- even in suburbia of letting them go. Out in the streets. Of hatred, judgement or violent retaliation.
Also, their own impulsivity and lack of frontal lobe.
In my house we teach the love of Jesus. The beauty of God’s creation.
Forgive anyway, be kind anyway, serve your community, those that need you. Pray. Anyway.
I guess you could say I have one toe in each.. social.. issue.. pool.
I think our colors, our races, professions are things that identify us. We have backgrounds, beliefs and cultures. Those things are not solely what define us or express the whole of who we are. Our hearts, our passions, convictions or our gifts.
Every one with our own list of “I am…” should be respected, treated with kindness…anyway. Maybe that will start a change.
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