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.