Mr. Lenwood Sloan, formerly of New Orleans but now entrenched in Pennsylvania cultures and communities, identifies himself as an African American Victorian  gentleman. He sings traditional Irish songs beautifully, and gains easy access to Polish cultural events by showing his polka style.
A week before St. Patrick’s day, I exchange divorce war stories and debate how skin shows age with the only other female at the tavern bar. She says her Irish skin adds an embarrassing number of years. She envies my African skin.  Many generations and continents away from Ireland and Africa we agree to meet, dance to celebrate our marital freedom and strut to some funky beats in a nearby gay friendly town.
To stave off the trauma of living in cultural isolation, I committed to living my own true self, of Native and African heritage in a suburban rural area where associations with people of color happened only when I searched them out and sometimes had to pay a fee of association.
I don’t think  my child and her friends notice difference. She says they love and support each other’s uniqueness and individuality. While I know each by name and her particular passion (reading, anime, animals, fashion, gear head, Japan, drawing, cosplay, etc.), they have been to me puppies, kittens, lambs, ponies when I needed to coral them for some common purpose. Just kids, now young adults, finding their way.
Are we all there yet? Â A society where we celebrate and sample our distinctiveness or cultures? Where we are not threatened by difference, inclusion, respect and love for someone who is not the mirror image of ourselves?