Home > history, politics > Two people I’ve loved

Two people I’ve loved

This morning, I realized I’d deprived you of some context in my previous post about “fake news.”

Americans are deprived of enough context already. I don’t want to contribute to that, knowingly or inadvertently.

I’ll soon tell you a story–true, as far as I know, if necessarily abbreviated–filling in context needed to understand the why of yesterday’s post.

Today I’ll tell you a little about my personal context: two people I’ve loved who make my next post’s history personal.

When I was very young, my godparents adopted a daughter. She came from Guatemala, and had black hair, black eyes, and skin far darker than I was used to seeing in my hometown.

She was so bossy that I couldn’t stand her most the time. Sometimes, though, she’d get a sad kind of quiet. She’d whisper about very bad things she’d endured back home, and I’d feel sad with her … briefly, before I’d continue being annoyed by her bossiness.

My first love was a dark-skinned boy from Honduras. My preteen heart fluttered the first time I saw him, waiting outside church for the bus to summer camp.

At camp, we walked and talked often. Once, we sat by a creek just before dinner. He told me about some of the horrors he’d endured in Honduras. He captured my heart as he recounted these things with simultaneous strength and vulnerability.

(A few decades later, my heart is still full of loving recognition of his powerful goodness.)

I visited him often for months after summer camp ended. I eventually broke off visiting, fearing the intensity of my feelings.

(Intense feelings led scary places in my home.)

Both my Guatemalan godsister and my Honduran first love inform my response to the history I’ll share next.

I want you to know of both these people before you even begin reading my next post.

Context matters, and they are part of mine.

This 12/8/16 post transferred from L2SP 8/24/17.

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