Attack of the Black Rectangles

by Amy Sarig King

No one is ever just one thing.

#truth

Yesterday, Ms. Sett said Mexico was part of North America but “not quite the same as North America.” I raised my hand to protest, but in three short weeks, she has learned to ignore my knack for discussing the truth of things.

Keep at it, Mac!

But we can’t pretend it didn’t happen—because when you pretend a thing didn’t happen, that means it can happen again.

“They’re afraid of the ideas, Mac. You know. Same as the watchdogs for candy and girls’ knees. Some people just think everyone should think like them. Or be like them.”

“Are you saying that I’m not telling you the truth?” “I think I’m saying that I don’t believe that anyone ever complained about this book. That’s all.” What I really mean is: Go ahead, tell me the last time a bunch of kids came to a teacher to tell her that they were made uncomfortable by a word in a book. This doesn’t happen.

IF YOU’RE COMFORTABLE LEARNING HISTORY, IT’S THE WRONG HISTORY. CENSORSHIP CAUSES BLINDNESS. FIRST THEY BURN BOOKS; THEN THEY BURN BODIES.

I can tell from his expression that he’s sad. “What happened, dude?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” Marci says, “Can we come in? We can eat popcorn or something. That always helps.”

I love the simplicity of kids. Of COURSE popcorn helps!!

have never been camping with my father. I’m not sure he’s ever been camping himself. And now he’s more like an alien than he ever was except, actually, he’s always been like this. Always acts half-caught, like what he’s doing is wrong. Always throws out weird lies like I’ll be in touch about camping! that make me feel like a disposable accomplice. I’m glad Marci said those nice things about me earlier because those things are what’s holding me together right now.

I love this kid.