This is what I looked like today. It’s not the most amazing thing in the world; but, it doesn’t look bad. Look at that, self-esteem making another appearance. But, that’s beside the point. The point of these pictures are to show you what people saw of me when I was in mass this morning. You see, we got to mass a little late because that’s just how my mom is. She shows up to places late. I’ve gotten used to that. The ushers of the mass decided to place us in a spot that was honestly too cramped for two people; but, it was still workable. I mean, after all we were at church, why shouldn’t we be close to each other, right? We’re all a part of the same congregation. The problem with that way of thinking is that I’m a victim of my own stigma. We were seated next to a family of three white females. Not just white, I mean the blonde hair blue eyes American white females. The mother looked like she was probably a prom queen or something like that. She was that lady and she had two little girls with her, one on either side. So, from the moment I sat down, I was conscious of my proximity to the little girl because I didn’t want the girl to feel uncomfortable and I didn’t want her mother to feel uneasy because I’m a big black guy, surely intimidating. I mean, it’s not like they know me; so, I gave them that courtesy for the simple sake of being polite. Except, after sitting there uncomfortable for a while, legs closed, balls squeezed, I realized that I was being stupid and I shouldn’t even be worried about stupid things like that. I’d given them no reason to believe I might be dangerous. So, I relaxed a bit and opened my legs, slightly. The little girl’s reaction: scoot closer to her mother. There were still a good six inches between the girl and I before she had move away. I ignored it, taking it as her just trying to allow me more room. On the inside, I knew that wasn’t why. Then came the part of the mass where we all hold hands and say our Lord’s Prayer. I went out of my way to lower my hand down to her level so that she could take it without any trouble. Did she take it? Of course not, why would she? I brushed that off too, telling myself that it’s because she’s young and that she would probably do the same for anyone else. Again, an excuse for her. Then came the part of the mass where we shake each other’s hands in offering of a sign of peace. I gave my mother a hug and a kiss first, as I always do; then, I turned to the girls’ mother, in order to clear the way, hoping they might lead by her example…except her example was to look at my hand and hesitate to offer me that sign of peace and then decide to barely make any contact. I then tried to shake the hands of the girls and they looked at it as if I were dirty or diseased. Then my mother offered her hand and they shot out their hands eagerly to shake her hand as though it was going to offer them candy. It was at that point that I was done making excuses. They had judged me on my appearance. Not the way I was dressed, or the way I carried myself; but rather, the amount of melanin in my skin. I left the pew, went to the bathroom because I could feel the disbelief growing in to anger. I needed to understand what they were seeing that seemed so intimidating or dangerous. And those pictures you see are precisely what they saw. They saw a microbiologist, Mensan, future doctor, writer, poet and all around nice person as a threat. I do not look like a gangster. I do not look like a thug. I do not look like a nigger. I am black. I have dark skin. But, I can proudly say that my vision is not darkened by my preconceptions. I don’t blame the little girls because that behavior is not innate, it is learned. It may have hurt me a little bit; but, I have thicker skin than that. I really hope that one day someone that looks like me saves their lives. I hope that someday I can save their lives so they can remember how they looked at the person who gave them life as though he might threaten it. Most of all, I hope ignorance dies before it kills us all.