Just Kids
They were just kids.
Their public school was located in an area known as the Murder Capital of a large metropolitan city. The school had never had a visitor before.
Their teacher told them they were nobodies. They would always be nobodies.
I brought with me large wooden African masks for them to try on. I brought African tribal music to dance to.
I told them of the glorious tradition they were part of, the pride they should have in their heritage.
One youngster was particularly gifted at drawing. The city was holding a contest for art by local children, so I urged him to submit his work.
He submitted.
He won an award.
The city held a ceremony for award winners but he was not invited. After much pushing, the city agreed to send him an award certificate.
He will not remember me.
I will never forget the joy in the eyes of those children, the love they offered, the pride they discovered.
It was Houston in the 1970's.
I am haunted by the question: have we come very far?
They were, they are
Just Kids
c. Corinne Whitaker 2026 and always
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