Hah, the hands. Oh, it's always the hands!
I was fortunate to have lived in a fairly diverse community (military town, lots of different people, although the city is very much almost majority-hispanic), and one of our family friends was a tall black police officer. To a toddler exposed to many different people, I never gave it much thought--except the hands, of course, when he'd pick me up to show me the lights and siren on his motorbike. (It's maddening how stupidly enjoyable children find certain loud noises.) The young me was oddly fascinated with the lighter color of the palms of those of African descent, and how similar--yet different--they were to my own.
As the years passed, I never really gave it much thought until a friend of mine from high school looked at my hands once when we reconnected some years later and asked me "Why do white people have such pink palms?"
He was teasing, of course, so I had to relate my own experiences. We shared a good chuckle.
Sometimes it's heartening to consider that our differences can be advantageous as a vehicle for bringing us together. It's rare (sadly), but it's also a very beautiful thing.
Thanks for reminding me of this, even if indirectly! Good memories.