Polka-Dot or Solid? It's All the Same!

I’m not one for staying up with the lifestyles of celebrities, and I didn’t even know about the royal wedding until I happened on the live feed on Facebook early that morning. As I watched the beautiful event unfold, I was rather surprised to learn that Meghan Markle was biracial. As I pondered how far we have come in my lifetime, I remarked to my six-year old granddaughter, Parker, about what an amazing event this was indeed.

Parker looked at me rather strangely. She has lived her whole entire life within a rather diverse culture, so it didn’t really register with her as to how unusual this was.

I began to explain about the discrimination that took place in my growing up years. I told her about the ridiculous fears that people had about using the same drinking fountains or swimming pools as those with other skin colors. Parker still didn’t even begin to comprehend what I was telling her.

I told her that for some reason people think that white skin is better than brown.  I showed Parker the multiple moles on my arms.  I explained that the pigment that makes my moles is exactly the same thing that makes brown skin brown.

I said, “I’m polka-dotted (I have lots of moles), and they are solid. It really isn’t all that different is it?”

Parker seemed to like that explanation, and the conversation quickly ended.

I am still pondering the basis of discrimination.

I endured some of that myself, as I was raised in a Jewish home. My maiden name is Levinson, and my heritage was quite obvious to all I met because of my name. I was called names (Kike, dirty-Jew, money-hungry, etc.). My family was not allowed to join our local Country Club or area Beach Club until I had already graduated from High School.  My mother was not able to attend the college of her choice because they had already reached their Jewish quota.  My father was the first American officer to step foot on the grounds at the liberation of Dachau.

I do have an inkling of what discrimination feels like.  Yet, I truly do not understand.

I believe with all my heart that we can trace our roots to Noah and his family. If we all came from there, then how did we end up with such division?

Perhaps if others would look at their own polka-dots (c’mon, you have at least one, right?) and understand the science behind it, we would understand the notion that everything that is in me is in everyone else to some degree.

I rejoice in my polka dots, and I am sorry that the solids have faced such huge, undue injustice. Yet, we are called to not look back but to press forward to the mark of the high calling in Christ Jesus.

There is a song on Christian radio right now by Mandisa called, “We All Bleed the Same.”  How do we so easily forget?