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I want hope that can be celebrated and shared by everyone regardless of age, race, and color. Hope that can be honored in all range of the spectrum. Life comes in color for a reason.
The prompt made me think about my own maternal grandfather, who also looked after me as I grew up. He never read me stories, nor taught me stuff that I eventually learned at school. But he shared to me all his colors, the good and the bad, and allowed me to share with him mine as a kid. He let me carry coconuts, bananas, and cassavas with him, and he allowed me to mess with his workstation -- he loved doing all sorts of crafts, and I wished I could have taken all his lessons in wood crafting seriously.
He allowed me to share with him all my curiosities and apprehensions -- everything. He loved it whenever I sketched him, said he wasn't interesting enough to draw. But he was. There was this whole generation in between us, but even that didn't mute the colors.
He passed away when I was 15, and when I thought he took away back all the colors, that wasn't the case. :)
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