I was the definition of untouchable in high school: a black girl in a white school, a working-class girl with wealthy classmates, and a Christian girl in an amoral environment. I was a pair of Pumas in a world of docksiders. Rarely asked out on dates or invited to parties.
Lunch hour was an agonizing dance of popularity, disdain, or acceptance. Thank God for the girlfriends who surrounded me, little black-girl outcasts, whose common aim was to make good on the opportunities afforded them, excel, and keep our virtue. The last part wasn’t a problem because, at my school, only the most daring or rebellious wanted to date a black girl.
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The Biblical account of the Creation is painted first in broad strokes. The first few chapters of Genesis then fill in the details as we make successive passes through the account. A careful chronological ordering of the creation of man gives us this synopsis: God created man in His image, male and female. He put them in a garden where they were naked and unashamed and told them to procreate, and then God pronounced it good. In my Christian experience I have wanted to argue many a point with God; I have always cheerfully conceded this one.
