My color

It might be incorrect politically,

And it may truly be hypothetically.

I'd say my uniqueness,

Isn't really a guess.

But for me the color of my skin, 

Would be the reason but it's mostly my kin.

Of course below the exterior color,

Would be some old family Valor.

Out of airplanes my dad would jump

About Europe and germanies hump.

His need for speed in his genes,

Below my shade makes me keen.

From jumping out perfectly good planes

Off speeding horse he'd fly to errant cows manes.

I'd say upon my psyche spilt,

The colors shade a scottish kilt.

Grandads gruff humor apparent,

In my life's course errant.

The smell of wood behind my ear,

The Irish carpenters lathe and gear.

I'd not say the men behind me important,

The women's strength also in me potent.

A nurse to help and give aid,

A grandmother's quick tirade.

Women in model tee's

Crossing plains to cut trees,

Rodeo girls on trick horses rode.

Then back to make a warm abode.

You though would be remiss,

My outside color brings no bliss.

It's the inside tapestry of many behind,

That makes me unique, humble and kind.

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