Kristin Czarnecki

Opening the box, I get a strong whiff of one of my favorite smells: old books. Or, more precisely, old paper, because there are no books inside the box but rather neat stacks of letters my father had saved for over sixty years.

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Dana J. Jackson

Back then, during the month of February, the New York City public school corporation gave us - mostly poor, urban, black and brown kids, who, at the time, knew more about King Arthur and Louis VIII than we did about our origins in Africa - a crash course in black history.

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