That last big word, discrimination, was on my spelling list. And I didn’t like what was being said about me or my parents. I then lost track of all the other questions and statements. It didn’t matter, for no one really seemed interested in what I wanted to say anyway. It might have been a good thing because I really didn’t know what else I would have said. My mom and dad each stood to one side behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. My father’s hand pressed down harder but it didn’t hurt at all.
I couldn’t put it all together; I wasn’t convinced I had done anything wrong. But everyone else clearly was certain I was afoul of something and it seemed to have something to do with the different colors of our skin.
The meeting just wouldn’t end.
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