I grew up in a working-class and ever-so-slightly diverse part of a very white city, but I the bus across town with two dozen others to school K-12. As I grow older I sometimes recall classroom memories that make my current self uncomfortable. In 7th grade social studies we discussed slavery, and our white teacher showed one of those chilling diagrams of a slave galley jammed with chained and suffering people. I remember turning my head and looking at Brooke, the only African-American in the class. Her face was a steely mask.