Mom and I went out the door hand in hand and headed to the bus stop. Mom didn’t drive when we were little so the two of us did our weekly trek to catch the bus for downtown. We would do our errands and then do our grocery shopping and finally take a taxi home with our treasures and groceries.
Three-year-old me ran up the steps and found a seat for us near the front of the bus. Most of the people that rode the bus back in the day knew each other. This day there was a man that was unfamiliar. Something was a bit different about him. I tried to whisper to Mom but my voice came out a bit loud. I asked how come that man had such a dirty face. She shushed me but too late. The man had heard my question. He told me that his skin was a different color than mine. I asked him why and he answered that he was born that way. He asked Mom if I wanted to touch his skin. She quietly declined and I climbed up in her lap. Continue reading