"We're all immigrants!"

It doesn't make sense. I'm a black woman married to a white man with two biracial daughters, living in a town known for its diversity and open-mindedness. I see myself as accepting, always wanting the best for everyone, respecting people of all kinds. So why does the topic of immigration enrage me so?

When the radio and TV pundits call for immigration reform, laud pro-immigration marches or anti-immigration rallies, I scream, "Why so much fuss about them? No one has ever cared so much about us! They come here and they think they're better than black people anyway." I whine like a forgotten stepchild and storm out of the room. Not about illegal immigration, but the topic as a whole triggers a black hole of anger, free-floating and unspecified, that scares me because I don't understand it. Afraid I'll get sucked into the vacuous hole, I push the topic from my mind, but one day my neighbor catches me off guard, forcing me to confront my immigration rage.