I once had a conversation at school with a first grade student. It was snack time, and, as she saw me approaching the eating area, the student called out to me:
“Mrs. McDavid, Mrs. McDavid!” Olivia’s hand was up and signaling for me to join her.
I walked over to her table and sat down. “What’s up?”
“Did you know that before, if we were at a school with all black people or a school with all white people, I couldn’t sit with you?”
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The man at the box office seemed unsure when I told him I was the guest of a VIP.
“Hmm. What’s your name?” He checked his list, found my name, and gave me a look that conveyed “Should I know you?”
I played along and gave him my best movie star smile. “I have a friend on her way. Please be sure she is given a seat if I’m inside when she arrives.”
The December day was gorgeous — sunny and warm as usual in this part of the country. As I waited in front of the theater, I noticed a woman staring at me. After an awkward few minutes of smiling at each other, she approached me. I did not recognize her, and my mind started doing that “going through the faces file” thing. Nope. She was not there.
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Darla McDavid 