This story appeared on The Run of Play, June 3, 2010.
We wanted him. They wanted him. He was half ours. He was half theirs. Born here, he looked and sounded like he was meant to be there. He fled before manhood and made his mark down there. Then he had to choose. For a while he wouldn’t. Did he not want either? But then he picked us and it all changed.
He’s not wanted. We don’t seem to want him. They wanted him, but now that he wants us, they surely hate him. He defies characterization. Categorization can’t catch him either. We know who he is—he has a name. We know what he looks like—he’s been on television. But still, we don’t know what he is. Sure, he wears our colors, but he lives with them. He has three names—two end in vowels and one flaunts Siamese r’s. It’s as if he’s saying, “I’m one of them, but I’m coming to you, only because I can.”
Read the rest of the story here.