Nimisha Ladva

It is the right thing to do.

So he goes.

A few hours after his visit, the doorbell rings.

I go to the top of the stairs to see what's happening, and it's Frank.

He's not wearing his skinhead jacket, just his school uniform.

My father opens the door.

It's good to see you, son.

Come on in.

Cup of tea?

So they have a cup of tea and talk for a while, and Frank apologizes.

My dad says to him, you did the right thing coming here today, son.

Frank is blushing.

He looks like an ordinary boy now, no stinger.

My dad cups his hand, puts it on Frank's back, and simply walks him outside.

As the news keeps bringing more and more reports of violence and racist hatred, my dad decides it's time to leave England.

So he moves us to America.

In this country, I have grown up to be, among other things, a dark-skinned woman married to a nice Jewish boy from Chicago.

I've always assumed a happy, multicultural future for us.

Diwali and Hanukkah, samosas and latkes, two cultures, double the fun, twice the love.

Perfect!