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Weighing in late behind the world already celebrating.
Today I drove past George Armstrong Custer Elementary School (not making that up) and stopped at a stop sign while two young black girls, maybe seven and twelve, walked across the street to school. It occurred to me suddenly that they would not grow old believing that something like this could never happen. They would not grow old with that hopeless Not For Me feeling. Their entire lives stretched before them with this win embedded in their childhoods, setting the bar of possibility higher than it has ever been for children like them, ever.
I burst into tears behind the wheel, and the older girl cut her eyes at the crazy white lady looking at her and crying in her car.
Today I drove past George Armstrong Custer Elementary School (not making that up) and stopped at a stop sign while two young black girls, maybe seven and twelve, walked across the street to school. It occurred to me suddenly that they would not grow old believing that something like this could never happen. They would not grow old with that hopeless Not For Me feeling. Their entire lives stretched before them with this win embedded in their childhoods, setting the bar of possibility higher than it has ever been for children like them, ever.
I burst into tears behind the wheel, and the older girl cut her eyes at the crazy white lady looking at her and crying in her car.
