I grew up in the 70s and remember what life was like then. I was told by my parents, since I could pass for white (my mom is of the Creek nation), to tell everyone that I was white. Our lineage was to be kept a secret to all of our friends, and neighbors. My greatest teacher was my grandmother who had a store as the town people put it, “on the wrong side of the tracks.” I stayed with her after school, while my mother worked. We were there until grandma closed the store. Her compassion to all of the different races of people that came in her store touched me. I honestly do not know if Grandma ever made a profit. She fed the hungry when they needed food. She clothed them when they needed clothes. If they did not have money to pay, she helped them anyway. She was the hands and feet in our small town that ensured the survival for many of God’s children. And, she was my greatest teacher.