Sublime

I felt again the Negro children’s lips soft against mine, so like the feel of my own children’s good-night kisses. I saw again their large eyes, guileless, not yet aware that doors into wonderlands of security, opportunity and hope were closed to them.

Mi-ja and I traveled on swiftly moving, but distinctly different, currents.

She lived in the midst of God’s most treasured souls: the poor, the disregarded, and the humiliated. She had made her schoolhouse into a humble kingdom of acceptance,

I was still privately and at all times focused on the agenda.

White families, meanwhile, were moving out of the city in droves, lured by the suburbs—the promise of better schools, more space, and probably more whiteness, too.

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