Seated Meal

I wore a slinky little black dress, long elbow high black gloves, high heels, and my hair was perfect.  It was my first seated meal.  Each student was randomly assigned to a table with a faculty member for a formal dinner.  It occurred on the same days as chapel.

Sitting at my table was Wilson, a young boy from deep in Mississippi.

“Nice gloves.”  The auburn hair he brushed away from his eyes as he smiled and spoke in his deep southern drawl forced me to smile.

“Thanks.”  I wondered if some of our ancestors were turning in their graves.  A descendent of slaves and a possible descendent of slave owners were sitting across from one another at a table eating as equals.  Surely someone in our families from our pasts or maybe even our present would be shocked if not angry.

It was the start of something fresh and exciting.


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