A baby is a baby no matter the color of its hands and feet. Raised sometimes by a loving mother giving words of love so sweet. It doesn't matter white or brown we grow the same. So young we don’t know what we're in for. We don't yet know the game. Our mothers love us, fathers protect us. They show us the way. They guide us as we grow up, getting larger every day, showing us their way. Taking us to school so we can have a brain full of wisdom. Hoping that we can dodge the strain of the system. Little white girls with their hair braided back, books in their sack, coats on their back. A privileged young lady, all ready to make friends, but maybe, some people have a problem with that? Little black girls with their hair braided and black, ready to go with their courage intact, ready to act. Ready to learn just like momma said. Listening to what momma read, "Another black killing." "Baby, learn real good and you won’t end up dead." She’s shaking her head. Two little girls with their hair braided tight. It was really a sight. They examined each other with wonder and delight. So strange to each other, so separated by life. It took all their might, to ask the other their name and hope for a pleasant reply. 5 years old; breaking boundaries, knowing each other, trusting the other, learning loving one another. 20 years old. Still friends to this day. The both learned real good, just like they should, just like momma would say. Living together, knowing each other. Making hope for a future, where a baby is a baby no matter its color; and everyone learns to love one another.