Prose on memories and what they're worth, if anything.
Excluded from special help as a young student, I—and many others—should get it in adulthood.
On transformation - and the space in between all the stops along the way.
I was 4 years old when I asked my dad about the oiled African American muscle men in majestic flexed poses, “Why is he brown?” That was when I first realized there could be offense attached to skin color.
One semester when I was 9 or 10, I decided I would get all A's.. to please my mother.
A meditation on the demands of memory, and the roots of personal identity
No More Content
