The sun barely up. The meowing has stopped, as he shows love, brushing against my legs. We walk down the stairs together, I open the door, the cool air hits our faces. He scampers off towards the gate and crawls under. I turn, assemble his breakfast. Our routine is what he will expect when he returns. Half now, half for later. He waits, rather impatiently. I clean the spoon with my finger and give him a taste. He's come to expect it. I do dishes while he eats. He leaves a little and goes out to do what only he knows. Later, the dog will be in his pen. It's an enormous, area, with trails, leading into thick brush and trees. I'll pull a burr or two from his coat, sit and watch him eat. He'll then retrieve a small branch we've designated as our toy. Fetch, tug of war, or simply taunting me with it. I'll sit in a plastic chair, watching this magnificent beast with powerful jaws and caring eyes. He'll stand before me, letting me show him affection until he needs a break. I'll walk away, apologizing I can't stay longer. Explaining my loyalities to another, but my admiration and appreciation for him. I come back, Swag waiting, he'll finish his, then the other four-legged companion, not mine, but who has taken to me. will ask permission to simply lay on my bed. Swag protests, but he knows it's his spot. I leave, promising to return. The kids rush in, most saying hello to those they're more familiar with. I never judge or feel despair. A tiny hand will eventually ask me to hold it as we walk in our out. Little faces, smiles, stories that seem as if they will never end and me, wishing they wouldn't. I am amazed that I get paid for it. Barely enough to survive my adult life, with expectations and responsibilities I can barely afford. All this is forgotten during these times I describe. All because they, whether two legs or four, make me feel equal, loved, and needed. If only I could keep these thoughts when I look towards the future, even if it's the moments before sleep. Such calm moments in the tumultuous time we call life. All these wonderful moments in such a long day. Imagine if we all valued these moments more than the job, the house, the car, the clothes, the bank account. I know I say I do, but I also know I mean it. Time's up. Off to experience one of these. I need it. It keeps me going.
This was a post I wrote on Facebook after surprisingly not seeing any moaning about the Documentary by Jose Antonio Vargas, titled White People Dayyum! I just scrolled my timeline and not a single white person got their feelings hurt by White People. I unfortunately haven't seen it, but the number of fake accounts that popped up on twitter, tells me it was a damn good show. Here's the thing. If someone of color aka non-white says "White Privilege," are you offended? If you said yes, then you are exhibiting white privilege. It has nothing to do with how hard you work or study, how you stayed out of trouble, because here's the thing, that is entirely the point. Somewhere out there, there are 100 Black, Spanish, Native American, Arab, Asian, who worked and studied as hard as you and never got in trouble, but they don't have what you "earned" or achieved. Stop looking at the one person you know who isn't white that achieved as your benchmark. Loo
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