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Representatives and how they’re elected and how the Constitution says there have to be a certain number from each state.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Mark nodded, impressed by the little boy’s memory and delivery. Whatever Erica didn’t understand about the political realities he dealt with every day, it was pretty clear the woman was a good teacher. “But the Senate is different.”
    â€œWait!” Damon’s tone grew suddenly commanding. “I’m not finished with the House of Representatives!”
    Mark chuckled. “By all means, young man. Go on.”
    The kid hesitated, his hand fluttering from his chest to his side. He looked around uncertainly as though he expected to receive the derision of his classmates, and Mark realized that the boy had misinterpreted his chuckle. After all, the kid was just ten. “I’m not laughing at you, Damon,” he said in as gentle a voice as he knew how to use. “About the House of Representatives. Go on.”
    Damon’s eyes flitted to his teacher’s for a moment, questioning.
    â€œGo on, Damon,” Erica Johnson said in a voice more soothing than he’d ever heard her use before.“It’s all right. I’m sure Senator Newman would like to hear the rest.”
    The little boy’s hand went back to his chest. “The House of Representatives,” he continued, “is composed by p—p—population. States with more people have more representatives. States with fewer people have fewer representatives. That’s to be sure it looks like America—or at least that the states with the most people get to be heard.” Damon frowned. “Only it doesn’t look like America really. And the founding fathers didn’t intend for it to. Because when they wrote the Constitution, they didn’t count the black people. They called them three fifths of a white person because they were slaves and they had no votes at all.” His eyes found Mark’s. “Why did they do that? Why do white people always think black and brown people are worth less than they are?”
    Twenty-five pairs of childish eyes focused on him, waiting for an answer, and Mark knew he’d been set up. He longed to grimace in Erica Johnson’s direction, but refused to give her the satisfaction. Instead, he brought himself slowly to his feet and paced toward the child. When he stood in front of him, he bent over as far as he could, so that he look into the boy’s dark brown eyes.
    â€œThe men who founded our country made a mistake. A serious one, but they were—as all of us are—shaped by their experiences and the beliefs of their time,” he said in a voice loud enough for the rest of the class to hear. “At that time—and at many other times in the history of the world—slavery was a reality. And with very few exceptions, in the history of the world, slaves did not have the right to vote. I’m not saying three fifths is right, but in many cultures, slaves would have been counted as zero persons. Nonexistent.” He paused. “But the mistake was corrected bythe Civil War. A lot of men—white and black—died to fix that great wrong. But it was necessary. Sometimes fighting is the only way.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sure Erica—Ms. Johnson—will teach you about that later.”
    â€œShe did,” another voice, slightly familiar, added. Mark turned to find the kid who’d brought him the water, Anthony, on his feet beside his desk. “But the war wasn’t enough. It took the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments, which abolished slavery and gave African Americans the right to vote. And those amendments didn’t take. We still needed Dr. King.”
    Mark blinked, impressed. These kids were clearly carefully and thoroughly taught.
    â€œWe still need the Voting Rights Act of 1964. And we’re still three-fifths