Harlem, New York, 1954

"Mom, how do you know if you like a girl?"

Mrs. Winston looks up from the dish she was washing and turns to her son. He's standing there, hands in his pockets and his lips pursed in a twist. His legs are crossed and he's twisting to and fro.

"Well, sweetie. What gave you that idea?"

"Well, Ma…I've been talking to Delilah, and sometimes, when I see her, I get butterflies in my stomach."

"Hmm…" she taps her chin.

"Well, Delilah is a pretty girl, and she's very delightful."

"Mom, I think I like her. I want to ask her if…she wants to be my girl."

"Honey," she sighs, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because…when…" she runs her fingers through her hair, eyebrows knit together in irritation.

"Dallas, you can't ask her to be your girl because…the world isn't…accepting."

"Accepting?"

"In this day and age, people have issues with whom you choose to love and whom you choose to date. Anything that's different from what's considered normal causes problems. People will say some very hurtful things and do hurtful things to you and her because Delilah isn't white."

"What's wrong with her not being white?"

"Nothing, sweetie. But for many people, her not being white is what's wrong. It doesn't matter if she's smart, honest, and good-hearted. Her skin and who her parents are is what makes people hate her."

"Why do people hate her?"

"Because people hate what they don't understand. That's why, I don't want you to ask Delilah out. It's to keep you two safe. Maybe, in a perfect world, people learn to love one another regardless of color. But the way people are now, I doubt that's a reality." She sighs.

"I wonder if Nonno ever went through this."

"Grandpa?"

"Dallas, can I tell you a secret?"

"What is it?"

"I've always been upfront with your father, but I never told him about…my ancestry. I haven't been honest with him about where I came from."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your great-grandfather isn't a pure-blood Sicilian man. He's a mulatto. Your great-grandfather passed for white and denied his heritage until he was on his death bed. His wife knew for a very long time but hid it for safety reasons."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"The world is cruel to those who don't fit into whatever box they're forced into. I'm ashamed of hiding that dirty secret, especially from your father." She sighs.

"When your father says those hurtful things about Colored people, it hurts. Because those teachings and those words were what my grandfather told me, ignoring that his mother was a slave. He ignored that because of those teachings he was forced to deny his heritage for his own safety. I wanted to tell your father, but he's so brainwashed by this Aryan garbage that I'm afraid it will kill him."

"Do you think Dad will change his mind? That…he won't think the way he thinks no more?"

Her eyes sadden.

"I don't know, sweetheart. But I want you to know that you have a right to love whomever you choose, but the world is in a bad spot right now. I'm positive love will change it for the better. Love…" she cups her cheek.

"Love fixes all. All it needs is time."

"Papa, we need to talk."

It feels so foreign, speaking his native tongue to his father. It's been eight weeks since he last spoke to him; he didn't take Dallas dating Shirley too fondly.

"There is nothing that needs to be talked about, Dallas. You chose that…lifestyle, and I don't approve of it."

Dallas is in his office, clenching and unclenching his fists and swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Lifestyle?" he grits out in English, his eyebrows crossed.

"All I'm doing is dating someone who I care about. What makes me dating someone a…lifestyle?"

"She's a colored girl, Dallas. Have you forgotten what I told you when you were thirteen?"

"I was young enough to know that what you're saying was wrong. A woman's color got no value on her worth as a person. Pop, you've lived in New York, America, for over 20 years. You've met, talked to, worked for, eaten with, women who are Negro, Puerto Rican, Chinese and every other nationality across the globe in your life time. You are old enough to know that those women are no different than a regular old white girl."

"I never dated or slept with them, Dallas. Races should stick with their own races."

"What about me, Pop? Did you forget that your union with Ma made me? I'm a mutt, Dad. I'm the very thing your teachings preached against!"

"That's different! Teresa was—"

"Sicilian. You are German. She doesn't fit the criteria of your Aryan teachings because she's mixed with African blood. You have been married to the opposite of your racist teachings for over 13 years."

"Lies! Blasphemy! I should have you beat for desecrating—"

"Pop, she told me. She told me." His eyes stare into his father's. He hates how alike they look; it's like looking into the mirror at times. His father looks back and he knew he was telling the truth.

"No," he whispers softly.

"No, not my Teresa…"

"Pop, you loved her. You loved her for her character. You loved her because she made you happy. You loved her because she's caring, kind, and she had a big heart. You loved her for her, regardless of where she came from. You loved and accepted her for who she was. You broke all of your rules for her." Dallas softens.

"I'm with Shirley because she makes me happy. I'm with her because of the way she makes me feel. I don't care if she's black. I don't care if she's not German. I don't care that she doesn't fit into the cookie-cutter mold of who I'm supposed to be with. I like her, Pop. I like her a lot."

"I can't…this is all too much…"

"The world is changing. People are changing." He sits down beside his father.

"Mom told me, before she died, that your hateful beliefs will stick with you and it hurt her, Pop. It hurt her so bad. That's why she hid that part of herself from you, because of your hatred."

"I'd never mean to hurt her…"

"But you did. You hurt her and you hurt me. I was ashamed to bring you around my friends because of the things you'd say. I'd pretend I didn't even have a father because of how much you embarrassed me. Even Mom had to deny being around you sometimes when she's out with her friends. They knew you as 'The Nazi from Down the Hall' and they'd laugh at you."

"I thought they liked me…"

"They hated you! Why did you think you weren't invited to the neighborhood parties and cookouts for the longest time? Mom and I had to lie about where we're going so it wouldn't hurt your feelings. You don't understand that when you say those things, you're looked at as an asshole. An idiot. Oklahoma is the right place for that ignorance but not New York. They think in New York."

"Don't insult my intelligence, son. I can't believe this whole time…I thought Carol liked me…"

"She hated you most of all. The only reason she tolerated you was because you're married to Mom. Ms. Evers made fun of your accent and nicknamed you 'Lederhosen'. Sister Guyana prayed you'd burn in hell after you called those Puerto Rican orphans wetbacks…" Dallas counts off with his fingers. He sucks his teeth.

"I don't even know how you managed to piss off the most patient and the most devoted woman of God, but you did it. Kudos to you."

"I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I earned the wrath of a nun." Mr. Winston runs his fingers through his hair.

"It's in the past. All I'm saying is that you prove Mom wrong. You can change, you can learn to love. Give her a chance, Pop. That's all I'm asking." He claps his hand over his father's.

"Man to man, I need someone in my corner when my back's against the wall. I really need your support."

He looks at his son, with tears in his eyes.

"For you and your mother, I'll try. One day at a time."

For the first time in years, he hugs his father.

"I love you, Pop."

"Love you too, son."

AN: Nonno* = Grandpa in Italian. If there's any fluent Italian speakers reading this, if it's inaccurate let me know so I can change it.

I included the story regarding Teresa's heritage because racial identity is an often murky subject, especially those who are mixed race or white passing. I learned that there has been many African slaves that migrated to Italy/Sicily and racially mixed, so Teresa's ancestry isn't unlikely.

I want to give thanks for all the support and love for this story. It's much appreciated and much loved. Thank you. :)