One March afternoon in 1969 I was on the deck of a Chinese junk listening to the water clop against the wooden hull and enjoying a breeze that blew toward the South China Sea. The junk bobbed... [+]
She didn’t think herself a racist. She’d had black school friends, worked with black women at the restaurant, and watched Oprah daily.
But when her seven-year-old, white daughter brought home a children’s book from the library featuring all black youngsters, she had to ask: Why?
“’Cuz’ I can read all the words, Mama.”