There’s not very much that surprises me. I’m not what you would call naïve, nor am I the most optimistic person you’ll interact with. My deadpan delivery is something new friends have to get used to because my dry humor is often an acquired taste. So unless I’m in a particularly entertaining & animated mood, you have to work hard to shock me. I’m always ready with a comeback, which I’ve learned is both a gift and a curse.
When the 6 year old and his sister got off the bus on Tuesday I figured he’d had a less than stellar day as his face was longer than usual and he lacked his natural pep. I offered my standard, “How was your day?” and continued walking ahead of them.
“[A friend] said something hurtful,” he responded.
“Oh yeah,” I questioned still not turning, I waited for his explanation that perhaps she’d declined to call Black Panther the best movie ever made or had challenged his artistic prowess (both MAJOR offenses in Roman’s book).
“She said she didn’t want to be my friend because I’m black,” he said.
I stopped, “Oh.”
“So I told her she hurt my feelings. But she didn’t say anything else.”
