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There is hate on our street, and it looks like poorly scrawled marker on my front door.

And we will leave it there.

I will still smile at my neighbors, even though we do not talk, perhaps even more so, now that I am so very sorry for them.

Their children will eventually work up the courage to ask me what it means, and I will say that while I am happy to tell them what it means to me, they should probably ask their parents first, and then come back and ask me again, if they want.

If they come back, I will say that it means there are ignorant, bigoted, hateful people who make feeble attempts to control the world around them.

If they ask why we don't take it down or cover it up, I will tell them that it doesn't reflect on us, it reflects on the people who did this and on the people who allowed it to happen. It's a reminder to us of what emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually small people are capable of (though we would still see it there whether we painted it over or not), and it's a reminder to everyone else that while this time we were the target, it could just as easily be them, next time.

They probably have not realized this, yet.