While my wife is on a two-week African jaunt with my grandson, I am staying with my daughter and her family in Fort Worth Texas.
Despite the unrelenting 100+ temperature in the early evening, I faithfully walk for thirty-minutes in the neighborhood, a routine that I practice no matter where I am. What makes my walk bearable and even delightful at times is the warm welcome I get from the multicultural and multi-generational people whom I pass by on the side-streets. A few frolicking female preteens (black, brown and white) always wave at me, a young ethnic attired Muslim lady modestly smiles every time she sees me, a vigorous mixed-race young man asks me if I want to shoot some baskets with him and his friends, a muscled Asian middle-aged man working on his recalcitrant car raises his wrench to acknowledge me, and an old Latino-looking man walking his dog gives me a respectful nod.
When I am not on my walk, I have met other well-wishers: a congenial Palestinian woman who has befriended Syrian refugees and a devoted Afghani friend of my wife’s family who hopes to enable her endangered relatives in Kabul to emigrate to America or anywhere away the terror of the Taliban.
I may fervently dislike the extremist right-wing politics of Texas, but I have great affection for the individuals in my daughter’s enclave.