November 4, 2010 § 2 Comments
When I was about six and my sister was about three, our mom used to buy bread from a man who came to your door and showed you his wares. This man happened to be African-American. He would stand in our hall and talk for a few minutes as he made his sale.
My three-year old sister decided after seeing this man, to celebrate the occasion of his visit by skipping joyously back and forth in the adjacent living room (separated by a paper-thin wall), yelling “Black and white! Black and white! Black and white!” over and over at the top of her lungs. The entire time he was there.
What an interesting few minutes of conversation that must have been for my mom.