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.