I'm raising minority children.
They only speak one language, have parents with the same last name, only one set of grandparents and live in an affordable house with a decent yard.
Whatever will become of them?
That's what I wondered all year long as my kids attended school in Lawrenceville.
But when I dropped my 13 year old off at church camp yesterday, I found the majority.
Up there in the North Georgia mountains, they had gathered. They were white and tall and pretty. They were dressed neatly in pants that fit with non-offending t-shirts. They spoke politely, waited in lines without complaining and drove shiny, clean SUVs.
They were The Methodists.