Prejudice

You stood at my doorway, all three of you. Demanding answers I did not have, to questions I did not understand. You accused me, lectured me, belittled me. I said nothing, because I knew you had not come to listen. You were charged, and determined, and you would not leave until I was broken. I wanted you to leave, but it’s not my fault that I do not break easily.

You had to speak your mind, you said. So you unpacked your prejudices, offloaded your suspicions. But your thoughts were not your thoughts, I hope you know that now. As I stood there before your young eyes, you had seen me a thousand times before, each time with a different face, a different gender, a different name. We were all the same to you, that is how you were taught to see us.

Your parents referred to us as “them”. You grew up thinking that was our name. They gave you a profile of what to expect from “them”. No matter what I did, I was always going to be incapable in your eyes. Because no matter what you did, your eyes were not your eyes. I hope you know that now.

I heard some of you left town, travelled a little bit. I heard you found love, got married, had some kids. I hope you eventually regained your sight, took charge of your own thoughts. And for all our sakes, I hope you teach your kids well.