Skip to main content

A Loving Story

For some reason my mind keeps going back to this thought over and over. If I'd been born 40 years earlier, I would have been arrested for this.

For holding hands.

You know why?

Because we don't have the same skin color.

I can't stop thinking about this story. The story of the Loving's, a couple who got married outside of Virginia, and then were arrested as soon as they returned because they were breaking the race laws. They were then told they had to leave the state for 25 years. They did so and started a family, but after a few years they hired a lawyer, wanting to make their marriage legal. They didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but they ended up making interracial marriage legal everywhere. This trailer is the first time I heard this story, and realized what an amazing thing these people did.

I'm so grateful for the Loving's. I'm so thankful for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. I'm so thankful for the brave people who inspired him to come to action. I'm so thankful for all the people throughout history who've ever lived and decided to finally speak up, saying this is wrong. Just the act of saying this is wrong started an irreversible chain reaction, inspiring other's to speak. Just one person is all it takes.

I'm always going to remember the loving story, whenever I look down at that hand holding mine, that some might say is another color, but I like to say we're all the same. Beautiful.

Comments

  1. We're all the same. No more perfect words have ever been said. I love it.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Racism, stereotypes, and plain ole judging

Being in a class dedicated to the idea of migration has really kept the idea of racism on the brain. In elementary school, the idea of racism was so defined to me, thinking people are better than others based solely on the color of their skin. It wasn't until middle school after reading many books that I realized racism wasn't jut as issue of black versus white, rather it applies to all cultures. In high school I was actually shocked to here racist statements from people I loved. All the sudden this issue became personal somewhat. (My favorite statement was from a little girl who said, it should be illegal for Mexicans to have babies. I guess I can't have kids then.)  But it wasn't until last week when we did an activity in my public health class that I realized that I myself was being racist as well. Now, this is something I am not proud of. I'm very embarrassed actually and that activity was humbling. Why am I writing about this? Because, it's som...

Toxic Masculinity

It seems like forever ago that they released that Gilette ad about toxic masculinity. I watched as people I'd grown up with freaked out about it, saying that it said that men need to be like women, and that it condemned masculinity altogether, along with other things. I crafted post after post to write on my social media, but in the end didn't bother writing anything. I didn't feel like arguing with people. But I had to share my thoughts somewhere, so here they are.  To me, toxic masculinity is exactly what it says-- ideals of masculinity that are toxic. It's telling your son that he needs to suck it up and not cry. That he can get away with more than girls because 'boys will be boys.' The idea that he can't read or watch certain media because it's "for girls." At the same time, girls are asked to watch things that are "for boys" all of the time. It's the idea that men need to repress their feelings. That they can't be sc...

Little Bit o Writing Monday

The beginning of my short story for class.  When Dora's son tugged on her pants leg, the last thing she expected was to see him holding a tooth. A tooth that clearly did not belong to him. She was no dentist, but she was smart enough to know the colossal thing couldn't have come from Mark's mouth. “Mark, where did you find that?” Dora scolded. “In the backyard.” “Show me where,” Dora commanded. Excited, Mark ran out to the backyard, Dora following on his heels. He led her over to the back of the yard, to the particular corner that couldn't be seen from the kitchen window. There, her other two children were gathered around a hole in the ground. Hole was an understatement though, they'd obviously been working on this, pit, for quite sometime. If there had been no tooth, Dora would have sat the kids down and explained how digging holes this deep was dangerous because of all the water, electric, and who knows what else lines were under the ...