1981I have decided to cross an imposed line and burn my only bridge. My family has given me two choices: Go, or go. I will not be boxed up and shoved off for six months – confined as a dime-store pet learning tricks of white etiquette and coveting the lives of the old elite at my aunt’s house in Connecticut -- and I mind what they expect they have bred me to recognize and accept -- I resent the stand they won’t make, the position they take, the place they designate I stake since class is hard- won and I am an extension of them – about to lose every advantage I have that they were never given – foolish to abandon the runway modeling, theater, singing, ballet, violin – self-serving as nothing will overcome the shame I will bring to myself and to them if I continue to run my young white mutt- girl skin in “colored” circles. I cannot convince them even to meet him let alone love him enough to reject the rejection of a society they claim is a list of names their names do not appear on. I cannot convince them – all I ever needed was to know, and to love, and to speak – and so I go – burning love for old bridges – wondering what color they think their God is. I go my own daughter and believe I am medicine to heal the distorted visions of a world I think I see forming under the new bridge I am becoming. Marylisa W. DeDomenicis HomeTable Of ContentsLinksBio
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