In 8th grade, you asked me how I could be moral without a Christian God, as if God was Rome and all roads of justice and goodness led to him. I thought that was funny because, as a little brown boy with match-stick arms in a predominantly white school, I associated God with immorality.
The boys with the cross necklaces would call me “curry-eater” or, simply, “shit skin.” The kids quick with a bible verse would ignore the so-called heretical words rolling off my foreign tongue. A boy named Simon — the same name of one of Jesus’ apostles — would bully me relentlessly. He sat in the front row of your class, Ms. Sanchez. Because these kids prayed to your god, they thought good was an identity rather than an action. They believed in your Christian god and, therefore, were moral . . . even if they only applied Jesus’ teachings of acceptance, love and compassion to those with the right ability, race, religion or complexion...
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