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Where I'm from, he's not.

By Jennifer - Posted on 13 March 2016

I live in the county of Queens, NY, a borough of New York City. We have the best of city life: subways, buses, trains, every business and service a person needs within a few blocks. The suburbs are only couple of blocks away, with parks and houses with front yards and backyards and driveways and flowers and trees and porches with swings and rocking chairs.

On any given day I could pass a colorfully dressed Haitian woman on the street, shake the hand of an old Russian man playing chess, help an Orthodox Jewish boy who fell off his bike put his yarmulke back on, smile at a Pakistani grocer, get annoyed with the Chinese lady who spits and walks on the left, buy a lottery ticket from a man from Syria who winks at me, thank a Mexican man who jokes as he holds the door for me, thankful I can sit next to a strong young Nigerian man on the subway because he makes me feel safe, people walking by from Guyana, Philippines, Japan, Israel, Palestine, Iraq, Guatemala, Canada, Belize, Kazakhstan, Italy, Ireland, Ivory Coast…and yeah, even Northern European people like me.

The cemetery behind my house reflects our neighborhood, all faiths, all backgrounds - every time I visit tears fill my eyes - we're all together in life, and in death.

More and more and more people from every place, every corner of the world, speaking over 160 languages, 1000 shades of derma, but only one type of smile. All of us, Americans.

Queens county is where Donald Trump grew up, but he only looks in the mirror and sees green.

(Or orange, if you want to laugh about it: orange + green = brown. But nothing about the people running in the GOP this election year is funny anymore. Bernie Madoff grew up in Queens too, so we grow all kinds here.)