Child of the Past

Panda | Nico Borelli | Pencil

Child of the Past by Reon Williams

My acceptance starts within.

I am from wooden beads and hot combs. I walk barefoot through the grass as I stretch my hands towards the smiling clouds. The busy song of cicadas make themselves home in the bushes of the backyard. The smell of burning charcoal wafts through the air. The lace of my sunday dress tangles with my desire to be seen. I am the daughter of the past and the son of the present. 

The calloused hands of my grandmother dance to put my hair in braids. The cold grease slicking back my edges. The hum of the TV replays in my mind. The golden fur of my best friend rests his head in my lap. Barbie dolls and monster trucks fight for dominance. I am the daughter of the past and the son of the present.

Outside the white walls of my grandmothers house, I am the bridge between denial and acceptance. I’ve learned to make a place for myself in a country that  has only so many seats at the dinner table. I am the daughter of the past and the son of the present.

 I come from a house of love and joy, and walk into a world of cruelty and hate. Regardless of where I go, I carry a piece of home with me. My place in this world is what I make of it.

My acceptance starts within.