A boy put up his hand, pulled it down, then put it up again, and finally asked, “Are you the president?” Ovid laughed heartily. “No, I am not,” he said. “What makes you think I might be the president? Is it because my skin is dark?” The little boy appeared forthright. “Because you’re wearing a tie.” Ovid looked startled. “A lot of men wear a tie when they go to work,” he said. “Maybe your dad does that?” “No,” said the boy, and Dellarobia could see Ovid taking this in: no on the tie, or no on the going to work, maybe no dad, period.
