I was in sixth grade. Every morning of middle school I caught the warm yellow bus at a very early hour to be transported to the magnet school across town. After collecting me and my brother and our friends from our white neighborhood the bus winded through many other neighborhoods, neighborhoods I would never see otherwise, and the black kids joined us on the social microcosm that is a school bus. And there we sat for the hour long bus ride to and fro, daily, in segregated integration. I didn’t like the black girls only because I was afraid they didn’t like me. They didn’t like me because they were afraid I didn’t like them. And so we disliked and misunderstood each other for two hours every day across the streets of Houston. 

That morning the bus was at a stoplight in one of those other neighborhoods. My little girlfriends and I discussed the latest horror fiction we had snuck past our moms until we heard the bang. So loud. Then the school bus was completely silent and forty or so black and white children were unified for the first time ever by the shocking sight on the other side of the glass.

His car was completely sliced in two by the telephone pole. Like a knife through butter…

To read more of this powerful blog post from It’s Almost Naptime, click here:

http://www.itsalmostnaptime.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/on-grieving-for-black-little-girls-we.html

 

 

As for us, the packing is ongoing. Four days to blast off!

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