I met my 86 year old parents for lunch the other day and as it happened they had run into one of my father’s old cronies. They introduced me and proudly revealed, that I, like my father, was a teacher. When I mentioned where I taught the gentleman asked “You got lots of coloreds up there?” Sucking in my breath and recovering from my shock I sat down and proceeded. “Let me tell you about my colors. I have my Ciara, who is the color of coffee with two tablespoons of cream. And then there is my Nick, who is as black and smooth as a polished piece of onyx. And let me tell you about Cody, and Chris, and Britney and Brenden who are all different shades of red head and freckles depending on the time of year. I have Nikki and Mimi who are beautiful pale yellows with almond drop eyes and Nakheela who’s white smile lights up her sparkling brown face. As I proceeded the gentleman grew visibly uncomfortable, but I continued. “when they need hugs, I hug them all, and when they need a hand, I hold them. I wipe tears, and I share food, and we laugh and we learn and color dosent matter.” I believe that my world anyway is a better place because I do have colors, a class room full. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
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