Le Sigh.

Why insist you are not a racist when each letter that pours from your mouth is edged in hate? They are gilded with your sense of self-righteousness; your father's voice in your precious mind, giving you excuse upon excuse for your hatred. 

He was wrong. 

You are not him. You don't have to be a racist adult. You can just be a human, flawed as the rest of the planet, but comforted by the knowledge of sameness. The certainty that we all are pink on the inside. Pink is my least liked colour, but I'll be happy to wear it if it'll trigger a positive change in your young, boundless mind. 

We are born imperfect and we die imperfect. Why waste time hating?