“Mommy, am I a black person?”“Why do you ask that?” I’m amazed at the sweetness and sincerity he’s asking me.“I want to be a black person because I don’t want to be a white person if they are bad.”“Baby, do you understand what that means? Do you understand the difference between a black person and a white person?”He shakes his head no.“Aww baby people are good and bad by their actions. Being white doesn’t make a person bad,”“And being black doesn’t mean you can’t be bad too?”“Yes baby, we can be all those things by how we act and treat others.Come here, let’s go have this conversation with Smores.”We walk over to the bedroom and I ask Clarence to ask Mars what he thinks.“Smores, am I a black person?”And I catch him up on our dialogue. We both look at one another with smiling and knowing the wisdom of this question.“Clary, well you are an Asian person, mommy is an Asian person, I’m a black person, your sub is a white person but we are all people.”“So my sub is a good person too…”“Yes Clary, we are all good people if we are kind and nice to each other,”Mars explains to him, “we are all human.”“Do you understand the difference of why you are Asian and Smores black and your teacher white?”He looks at me bright eyed, then shakes his head no.I look again at Smores and we are both in awe.“It just means where our ancestors, parents And grand parents come from, like Korea, or Africa, but we are also here in America.”But I love the fact that he doesn’t see race, and I look as his eyes grow heavy and he falls asleep just like that.Mars says, “I’ve seen Clarence just like this since the first day I met him and he said to me, ‘I like you,’ as he touched my face and looked at me big eyed and genuine. He just approached me and knew I was receiving him with love, but I knew he was special that he just came up to me when he just met me. He just feels the good energy.”I’m joyful. “honestly, I love that he doesn’t see race. He just sees we are all different shades of human. I want to just let him stay this pure a little longer.”“This is what I’ve always said. Racism is taught.”Mars and I have been quoting Clarence’s words from a couple weeks ago in our daily talks and jests.We were all sitting in the bedroom, each watching our own shows one evening and sharing what we found funny. Elijah and Mars next to him and I, myself, half dangling off the the bed with my head hanging to be near them sitting on the rug.Clarence just starts laughing out loud saying with amusement, “it’s kind of funny, but we all kind of look alike.” He laughs again so amused at his own epiphany, “But me and Smores, we look exactly alike.” He squeals with laughter at the revelation as Mars, Elijah, and I look at one another than start cracking up because it’s so real, and Mars exclaims laughing so happily, “Yes Clary, but me and you, we look EXACTLY alike!” And we all continue to laugh as I am bursting from heart to toe. “Yes Clarence!” I shout, “we do all kind of look alike, but you and Smores, you guys look Exactly alike.!”

The Storyteller


 I believe every great writer must have had a great storyteller. 
                                          Hannah Jurado 

I’ve kept a journal since I could remember. I write constantly with either pen, paper, or thoughts. Thoughts that play like movies with sentiment and laughter streaming sometimes slowly… (Pause) 

Sometimes quickly. 

I even built a code system of numbers to write so that no one could understand. It got to be too hard to read, but also to understand. 

Then I began writing fiction and 

Somethings are even too sacred for myself to record but to God telepathically share with him, and whoever catches the vibe sync and slide together like the very real thrill of speeding through a turn, drop, loop. 
My dad tells stories with so much grandeur that it makes everyone around him understand magic. Every story is amazing because of the way he views it. We are in control of who we are but he does it well. 
When we know, feel, see, experience, love, and are something beautiful than we could spread it so that everyone feels comfortable sharing theirs. The two of us just jammed in between a fit of writing and running to check on the babies. This is all very amazing and real. My hand gently resting on the baby’s knee so he would sign back to deep sleep actually writing a poem about my chipped red nail

Polish and thinking I need lotion. 

My other hand on my older son and gasping a beat at how real their flesh feels against mine. 

Descartes, “I think therefore I am.” 

Earlier today Clary held tightly to my head as we walked through a dark parking lot and I wishing he would squeeze tighter because of how his solid body is proof he is real. 

Socrates was an amazing storyteller and Plato was the writer. If we didn’t have electronic devices maybe we would have more companions and to think how lonely the future might be….