When did you stop trusting God?

convictions, realizations, and reevaluations about being the "other"

I remember the first time I realized I was “different”. It was third grade in Ms. Meyer’s class. She sat us in alphabetical order and with the last name of Williams, I was used to always being either last or close to it, which was fine. The view from the back of the classroom gave me more of a vantage point for observation and I enjoyed that.

On this particular today, we were learning about the presidency of the United States— what a president is, how many presidents there had been, and the types of people who had never been president before. To all of our astonishment, there had never been a female president or a Black president.

And then it happened.

The moment that has stuck with me well into adulthood, well into parenthood, and has shaped the checklist of things I look for in the cities, neighborhoods, and schools where I choose to live and send my daughter to.