Pervasive messages of tolerance and diversity have surrounded me my entire life. How many times I've spied billboards, commercials, and T-shirts espousing the phrase, "True love sees no color." The Infidel household strictly adheres to an eternal gospel perspective of loving and respecting our neighbors regardless of color, race, or creed. On the surface, it may seem as though I've achieved the highest echelon of color blindness, but it's not true. I'm a giant hypocrite.
I constantly engage in the shameful practice of dividing and segregating just solely based on color and hue. I even have a special place in the house reserved for whites only. Non-whites have a place too, but I adamantly refuse for them to ever co-mingle or get too closely acquainted with the whites. It may sound ignorant, but I worry about their color rubbing off on my close little circle of pristine whites. I explained my conscientious inner conflict to Papi. He's a lovely shade of caramel himself, so I assumed he would hold a greater understanding towards my moral dilemma. I began telling Papi how judging and separating according to color runs afoul of all my standards and values and that I just couldn't stand to go on this way any more. Unsympathetically, Papi dryly told me, "Tough, girlie. You still have to do the laundry."
I've acquired a lot of cuts and scrapes from getting knocked down off my pulpit.