Don’t get me wrong. I have gobs of sweet memories from our recent feast day. Namely, my mother was well-loved and seemed to enjoy herself all afternoon. This was my conscious intent for the day.
As our guests arrived, I noticed how few of us were both white and straight. It occurred to me, “Maybe that name game would work here in my home.” We could each introduce ourselves by sharing the story of our name, with ancestry coming forward from around the globe.
I am embarrassed to admit. In the year when I have recognized the historic pain and loss this particular holiday represents for many, I did not foresee the sad clarity offered by this simple icebreaker.
Every person referenced Europe in one way or another. Alas, there’s only one explanation for it, that c-word. At least someone named it—Colonization—the awkward elephant in the room. After which, unleashed playing (and praying) abounded.