Lets start this post by saying Wendy's mom doesn't like me. Deep inside she doesn't like me because I'm a serious threat to take away her control over Wendy. She hides that under the clever old-fashioned guise of racism. She doesn't like that my dad is black. She doesn't like that our children could possibly be darker than their parents. She worries about how difficult their life might be. She worries about how people might look at Wendy. I don't know if she knows I know about this. When she came in last night she managed a half smile and exactly four words to me.
SG: How are you?
JH: Good, How are you doing?
SG: Good (puts head down scurries into spare bedroom not to return except to use the bathroom)
Before that exchange she had a lively conversation with Wendy about how much she hated the new bathroom color including how 60'sish the blue paint looks, and why it wasn't painted white instead.
This morning 10:00 a.m. a text message arrives saying "change the color I don't want to say any more about it its still mine too."
If you'd like, I'll repost the same batroom pic as yesterday, so you can see how hard we're working to grant that request.
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