I Didn't Love My Neighbour
When I was seven years old, my family moved from a small town into Saskatoon. We moved into a quieter part of the overwhelming city, a house in a new development with empty lots for neighbours and so close to the airport that we fell asleep to the sound of planes landing.
My mom looked at me puzzledly as I walked in the door. I'd only been gone five minutes.
"What are you doing home? You weren't there very long!"
My seven year-old brain couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation as to why I didn't stay. All I knew was that I had a bad feeling, wanted to go home where it was safe, and felt embarrassed about it. I didn't think she would understand, and knew I needed to tell her SOMETHING. So I said the first thing that came to mind.
"Um, I just didn't want to play with her."
"Why not?"
"Her house smelled funny. And her skin is a different colour."
Momma Froc's face turned a sickly ashen grey. I don't remember exactly everything she said. I remember her explaining that the little girl's house had lots of people living there because families come in all different sizes. I remember her explaining that the house probably smelled weird because they ate different food than we did. I remember her telling me that things that are different are not always bad, after all, my little sister was different wasn't she? And then she told me that she never, EVER wanted me to not play with or say mean things about people who had a different colour skin than I did. Because everyone was a child of God and that's what was important.
I was so ashamed.
* * *
That episode from my childhood has played over and over in my mind throughout the past couple weeks. Lately there has been so much hate, so much prejudice, in the world around me, and it's making me heartsick to think about it.
I've been blessed in my life to be surrounded by people that are different. People have been placed in my life with all manners of disabilities, both mental and physical, that come from broken families, that suffer from crises of identity, that have different ethnicities and cultures, that are of different faiths, and have dealt with trials I can't even imagine. Every one of those people was put there to teach me something, whether they left a positive mark or not, and I'm grateful for them.
I never saw that little girl again, you guys. We ended up going to different schools, and that was the only interaction I ever had with her. I don't think I even apologized. I've felt guilty about it ever since, and have tried my best to never be that unkind again. Now, I don't profess to be perfect, but thankfully I've learned a couple things since then.
It is not our job to judge. Our only job is to love. It doesn't matter if people are making bad choices or if they have a lifestyle different to your own. Someone's choices shouldn't be a requisite to kindness. I've found that you can always find a glimpse of the child of God that person is if you look hard enough.
Don't forget to love people. You never know who's going to need it.
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