Earlier today I went out to Old Town San Diego for a Mexican
snack at a little cantina. My friend, Angelika, ordered in Spanish and I had
queso, which can very much unlike Chiles or ZTejas. Queso means cheese, and I literally received a frying pan of melted cheese. That evening I went with other friends to Little Italy for pasta. The  Italian waiters shouted back and forth in very loud Italian.

I think of Claire and the fact that she will never know a
purely white, English world where everyone looks the same and sounds the same.
I was born in the middle-70s, and I remember vividly the day I realized that
everyone wasn’t like me when I literally ran into a very large black man at a
restaurant. He knelt down and smiled at me and apologized. It was then that I
learned two things. I learned there are people different than me, and that was
Ok.

We get these emails that remind us what a high school exit exam looked like in
the 1890s (do you know all 8 parts of speech?) and what pop culture references
we liked in the 1980s (pogs! Garbage pail kids!), but if we think about this
world in which we’re raising our children then we notice that they’ll never see
a United States where English is the primary language and no one is as white as
our grandparents.

This is Ok, since we’re life a friggin’ Crayola box anyway.