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On The Inside

That day I said something about my father’s childhood. Perhaps the story about counting the cattle when they came back through the gate at the end of the day.

After class, a student came up to the desk. He looked at me through the light of the document camera.

“I thought you were Hispanic,” he said.

“You did?”

“… because of how you pronounce our names,” he said.

I nodded. And glowed on the inside.

“…and”

I looked up.

“…because of the color of your skin.”

I nodded. And glowed on the inside.