“Thank goodness this school year is over,” MaryAnne thought to herself as she saw the mothers filing in for the wrap-up PTA meeting. “I’d never have agreed to be president again this year if I’d known it would be so contentious!” MaryAnne knew she was an idealist, but, still, she’d never dreamed so many “civilized” women could be so vocal about integrating the cities’ elementary schools. “Good grief,” she thought for the bajillionth time. “This is 1970, and it’s not like we’re in the south. Who’d have thought that midwesterners could act just as silly about something like skin color?” Well, today, her last day at the podium, she’d make her point – and she had her new colorful purse to use as a visual aid. She’d practiced her speech with her husband, stressing that children were vibrant, like the orange, yellow and green; innocent, just like those colors; and happy to coexist side-by-side, just like the stripes on her purse, IF their parents and grandparents would leave them alone. Maybe they’d hear her. Maybe she could make a difference. She’d at least go out trying.