Dear Joe, I'm not sure if you've ever had someone stare at you in an attempt to figure out "what you are". But I think you know the feeling. This feeling of another human being searching your face for familiarity. Their eyes get extremely inquisitive. Left to right. Up and down. Taking inventory of your suddenly much too exposed features: Wide bridge in nose. Thick bottom lip. Squared jaw-line. Closed-set eyes. Muddied complexion. I can read the inner dialogue. And then it comes. "So, if you don't mind me asking, what are you?" I've often been a total asshole when answering this question. Replies like "a human being." "a bad dancer" "a mother." "a woman." All true, but obviously not what the interrogator is looking for. I now just skip past my pride and tell them. Black and German. If I like them, I get detailed. (I hardly ever get detailed.) Unfailingly, the next sentence follows: "I though...
You didn't think death would stop me from talking your ear off did you?