A Child of God
I was 10 years old when I realized I couldn’t answer a simple question put to my fifth-grade class at The King’s Christian School, in Haddon Heights, New Jersey.
It was 1984. My teacher gave us a special assignment: drawing a flag depicting our family’s origin. I was excited. I wasn’t great at drawing, but this project sounded fun. First, I had to find out the answer to my teacher’s question: “Where does your family come from?”
At dinner that night, I told my parents about the project.
“What flag should I make?” I asked them. “Which country does our family come from?”
An uncomfortable look came over my mother’s face. “I have no idea,” she snapped. “Our family migrated from Georgia. That’s all I know.”
Why did she sound mad? I knew from her tone not to press the issue.
I was one of a handful of Black students at my