Hmmm...

Apparently black people from Port Huron don't like the 4-H Fair. Must have something to do with the Confederate flags flying around.

And yet my friend and her husband and her precious baby daughter were there with me, laughing at the possibility that there were really people there that didn't think we belonged in the vicinity. But as always, we do belong. I make it quite clear that I don't live in the boxes my grandparents and great-grandparents had to. I remember the stories of segregation and hatred and brutality and Confederate flags symbolizing closed doors, and I stare into the eyes of those that are surprised to see me at the Goodell's County Fair. I stare into their eyes and by staring at them dare them to say a word to me about the self-imposed reality they live in. It's not my reality, I say silently. I have somewhere to get to - a place my forefathers never thought they would ever go. So if these arrogant, racist strangers want to stay in a place of separation that's their choice, but as long as I have the opportunity to do so, I will show up wherever there's corndogs and ferris wheels and country music. Because I can.