Just Who Are You, If I May Ask

I don’t want to know what you do for a living; that’s just how you support yourself. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief – they aren’t you.

Nor do I particularly care what nationality you are; it only indicates who was ruling the part of this planet when your ancestors were living there.

Color? Whitish, blackish, brownish, yellowish, whatever, tells me nothing except, perhaps, your attitude toward the others. It really does not tell me who you are.

Nor does the language you speak, the style of clothes you wear, political leanings, your religion and belief in its supremacy over all others. Your address, town, state or country are meaningless as to your identity; they will only tell me where you get your mail.

So now we’ve stripped you of all that identifies you in terms of the Census Bureau, polls and the social greeting, “So, what do you do?”

We, all of us, are sharers in life, called from nothingness to exist. That’s an enormously basic fact. We never were, and now we are; we are created beings. We are people with talents, who should never dismiss that fact; we are independent, but brought here to learn how to love and share. To denigrate others negates that whole plan.

We are given a name, a set of tools, a few basic rules of life and told not to screw it up.