There are very few of us here.

That was the very first thought that crossed my mind when I stepped onto the farm. I knew that I was going to be a semi-farmer for the summer, but I assumed that there would be more diversity. Instead, as I gave a brief inspection of my surroundings, I saw many who, judging by their facial expressions, were clearly foreign to the city. They clicked together as if they feared the idea of being associated with outsiders; and as for me, I drew further into myself. I already felt my nerves starting to tighten.

I hated change.

I found it difficult to relate to my co-workers and as days of work eventually wore on to weeks, it was obvious that I was not the only who felt that way. As the supervisors took notice of the growing amount of resignations, they knew that they needed to make a few adjustments.

“This activity is called step up, step back” Jackson, one of our supervisors, announced one day after lunch.  Jackson instructed us to form one horizontal line and that we hold hands. This did not sit well with us, but we complied anyways. He informed us that he was going to read several statements aloud and if they applied to us, then we would take a step forward, and if they did not, then we take a step back.

He started, “If your parents read to you when you were younger, step up.”

As the girl beside me stepped up and I stepped back, we were forced to let go of each other. She glanced back at me and for a second, I saw something flash in her eyes.

Annoyed, I mentally paused, Is she pitying me?

***

"Vanessa, pick out a story." my older sister, Charline, commanded.

Almost immediately, my eyes latched onto the 'Winnie the Pooh' book. I gestured towards it, and Charline proceeded to take it. My sister read to me quite often when I was young. She was the only one, out of my four siblings, who always made sure to read to me before I went to sleep. She read to me so much that, after a while, I began to memorize the stories. Eventually, as she grew more occupied with extracurricular activities, she did not have time to read to me anymore.

Soon, I began to pick up books and attempt to read them myself. With the stories already engraved  in my mind, matching the words on paper with the ones in my head came easy. As time went on, I began reading bigger books, spent more time in the library, and by the time I was in the 3rd grade, my teachers informed my parents that I was reading at middle school level.

***

I don't need anyone's pity, I thought angrily. When I stepped back, I did so with confidence. As I gazed around, I was surprised at how many people stepped back along with me.

Jackson continued, “Step up, if your parents have ever helped you with your homework.”

***

“Dad, how do you spell ‘beautiful’?”
 

I was in the first or second grade when I first asked my father to help me with my homework. He was clearly taken aback, as if he never imagined his six year old daughter would ever turn to him for help with homework.
 

“Ehh...B-U-T-I-F-U-L” he said confidently. I knew he was wrong, but I happily wrote the letters down as he went and thanked him anyway.  I was certain my dad could read proficiently,

as he always made it a point to read the letters sent home from school aloud. I also knew, after witnessing him socialize with teachers during open house, that he spoke English quite fluently. Those were two qualities I was still struggling to acquire at the time, so as far I was concerned, even without a college degree, my dad was still the smartest guy I knew.

***
He is still one of the smartest guys I know, so when I stepped up, I did so with confidence.

As the activity progressed, I sensed a change occurring.

By the end of the activity, I stood in alignment with people I never spoke to before. I began to realize that my co-workers and I were not so different after all.

Looking back, I ridicule my initial trepidation about change. After witnessing how many similarities my co-workers and I shared, I learned that diversity is not only defined by race or economic stature, it is also defined through experience. Since realizing that change can not solely be judged by its appearance, the idea of it no longer seems so horrid, after all.