I remember when my mom told me that my friend’s two older brothers were adopted. She said it with a laugh, like I should have noticed before. I didn’t understand why I would know something like that. Then I figured it out. I don’t know who told me or if I just figured out on my own, but after a while I knew. It was because my friend and her parents are white, and her brothers are black.


Hmm… I really hadn’t noticed it before. I mean, I guess I did, but it wasn’t something important. They were my friend’s older brothers. Not my friend’s black older brothers.


To this day they remain some of the only not white people I know well. (My town isn’t a diverse one.)


And yet, when I think of them, I don’t think of black people. I think of my friend’s older brothers. I think of playing video games in her basement. I think of them holding back their dog, when I used to be afraid of her. I think of the years when I crossed that boundary between being a guest and being like family. I could tell, because they started busting on me too then. And, sure it was annoying, but they’re older brothers, what do you expect?


I’ve lived such a sheltered life, that I don’t know many people of many different backgrounds. But, I do know some people of different colors, religions, and ethnicities. I didn’t realize I knew people of different backgrounds, because I didn’t notice. It took me years to realize and consciously think of these things.


But I’m glad. I’m glad I had that period of such innocence.


I’m not saying I have currently no prejudice. That would be naïve to say. No one truly knows how they would react to a situation before they are in it. I am saying that I was raised to not notice the color of someone’s skin. Right now, if you asked me to describe my friend’s brothers, I’d probably tell you about his sports or the other brother being at college. Color doesn’t matter.


Not to me.