First Impressions Matter

One of my earliest memories:
standing in line
with my parents
at some amusement park
or public place,
(that’s how early this memory is),
and I was holding my father’s hand.

I was so little
probably 2 or 3
and I was just immersed
in the experience
so much

I heard my parents
from behind me
say
“What are you doing?”

So I looked behind me
and there were my parents

so then whose hand
was I holding?

I looked up
and saw a beatific
face of a chuckling,
middle-aged
African-American man,
just smiling at me,
amused at this mystery child
holding onto his hand.

That image of smiling grace
is fundamental to who I am.

All my life,
as a Mexican-American,
I’ve never felt anything
but kinship,
acceptance,
for African-Americans,

and I wonder if
that smile had something to do
with it.

First impressions matter.