Are you a racist?

When I was five, a man delivered a sofa to my parent's house. He didn't have the same skin colour as anyone I had ever known. I was mesmerized. My mom tells the story about an innocent kid staring at him asking questions about why.

I remember the event. I remember not understanding. I remember focussing on him. I was a kid. He was different. I was curious.

Fast forward 25 years. My wife and I wanted to grow our little family. Colour of skin was never a concern. Anyone who adopts knows this.

Morgan Freeman said that the only way we get past racism is if we stop referring to people by labelling them by the colour of skin.

I can honestly tell you that I don't see the colour of my daughter's skin. I see it when others stare at us. I feel it when she cries about feeling lonely. My daughter sometimes feels different. She has a visible difference to those who don't love her. When she was five, she asked us when her skin would become white.

Here's what hurts the most. On three occasions in the past month, three different people affirmed that they were not racist. Yet they continued to categorize all people of colour the same way. In all cases they did not know about my daughter, nor was I confronting them. We were having normal conversations.

If you make a statement that includes all people of the same race, that is the very definition of racism.

How shocking it is to know that in my circle of influence there are racists who prejudge others by the colour of skin. How simple? How ignorant?

You can hurt me with your words, but one day these words will penetrate a sheltered innocent little girl.

That will be an even sadder day for my family.

Love of softball

I'm what some would call an old fart. Not decrepit old, just not young. Some use the words more experienced. Some would say wise.

I don't care about the label that is applied to me by others. Youthfulness isn't defined by age. It isn't defined by energy. It is defined by state of mind. My grandfather was in his nineties when he died. He had a more youthful character than most people a third of his age.

Youthfulness is demonstrated in the desire to play games and tricks. I love to play games.

From a very early age, I loved the game of softball. I remember my first glove was emblazened with the Montreal Expos logo. As a kid, I would find a way to practice the sport in some way or another. A good game of catch, shagging fly balls, throwing balls against a building. The game has always been a part of my life.

When no one else would organize a team, I would do it. At thirteen, I organized games against my cousin's team in a nearby community. When my cousin couldn't put together a team, I would organize a game against the local women's team. Our team consisted of players aged 8 to 13. We were good enough to compete with the adult women.

Our team was made up of a bunch of friends. A bunch of like-minded kids who were trying to occupy their time in a community where social dangers were everywhere.

Looking back at those youthful days, I'm very proud of the kids I grew up with. Most of my friends have moved to different parts of the world. Softball brought us together. Life has torn us a part.

As my friends gave up the youthful game, I continue to play. Now in my forties, I play only once per week. It is my time. I'm in my glory on the diamond. Time stands still for a couple of hours as I relive my childhood on the field. Friends are different but the game is the same. 

It no longer matters if I win or lose. It should never have mattered but it did at one time.

Now a bunch of like minded old farts get together once per week to enjoy the passion of a game designed for youth.

I almost stopped playing this year when my son expressed interest in baseball. Unfortunately baseball was one night per week and it was on the same night as my softball night. As any good dad would do, I was ready to hang up the glove so he could enjoy the same wonderful game that I have always loved. Fortunately for me, he thought a hard ball being thrown at him was too scary this year.

So for one more year, I get to hit a ball, run around the bases with the ultimate goal of getting home safe.

There's something primal about that. Don't you think?