Nothing represents America better than this story.
A father meets the man who received his daughter’s donated heart. The young man allowed the father to hear his daughter’s heart beating inside his chest.
Two men meet for the first time. A dad hears his daughter's donated heartbeat in the man whose life she saved. pic.twitter.com/tD73GkMWM8
— Kevin W (@kwilli1046) October 14, 2018
A young white girl saved the life of this young black man. That is the America I know and love.
I grew up in two worlds.
My first world was mostly black. My family lived in a poor neighborhood in San Antonio. While it certainly wasn’t the ghetto, the black people living there struggled financially. Some fared better than others, as they were better stewards of their money.
All my friends were black. Alfred lived across the street and one house over from us. The Conways lived two houses to the right of us, looking from outside our house. Randy, the street bully lived on the other side of the street, right of Alfred and on the corner.
A family of mostly attractive girls live to the right of the Conways, on the corner of our street. The oldest sibling, a boy, was an albino. They had a younger brother, who was much younger than I.
On the block further up live Peppy, my cousin, and his best friend Brian. On the block behind out house there was another family who kids would join us occasionally.
That was pretty much my crew up until I was eight year old. My black crew.
Now, let me explain my white world.
My family moved from San Antonio to a small country town in the middle of Texas. I went to the formerly all-white elementary school. I experienced no racism at this school, repeat NONE.
Once I made it to Jr. High, I began hanging out with some of the black kids.
Clifford, Jesse (later changed his name to Samarian), Mike, and I made up the blacks in my class. I barely keep up with them, though I communicated briefly with Clifford on Facebook about 5 years ago. Mike’s sisters have said hello from time to time. Samarian is in prison.
My white friends keep in constant touch, mostly through Facebook. They’ve invited me back to the town where we grew up. I talked to Robert the other day, where he reminded me of how proud the town is of my success. That sort of tells you how easy it is to impress my friends.
I can honestly say that those kids I met in the 3rd grade remain my closest friends in the world to this day. If there is anything I need, I can call that group of white kids, and they will move Heaven and Hell to help me.
So when I see a story where inside a black kid beats the heart of a white girl who made the ultimate sacrifice, I am reminded of my upbringing. For me, that story is no surprise.
That story IS America! The story the lefts sells the media is just hype.
