As many of you may know, I am a first-generation college graduate – I’m proud of it. My family had very little money. We lived in a small town.
And try as I might to fit in, I always felt like an outsider and often was treated as one. My father was an immigrant, and the only person around who spoke with a strong foreign accent. In elementary school, I was the only Jewish girl.
And…and one day – I remember this vividly – in fifth grade, I learned just how easily false stereotypes about minorities can arise.
That’s when another blond-haired, blue-eyed girl moved into my class. My best friend Diane took one look, turned to me, and said, “Oh! She must be Jewish, too!”
My hometown may not have understood or celebrated diversity, but it treated me and my family respectfully.
I never took that for granted given my father’s escape from Nazi Germany. My parents even joined with others in neighboring towns to create the first synagogue.
Wonderfully…wonderfully…wonderfully dedicated and caring teachers helped prepare me for college. And I couldn’t wait to go.
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