On my first official day of unemployment, for the first time in my daughter’s almost eight years, I joined her class for a field trip. It was unseasonably warm and sunny, and a few clusters of colorful leaves still held strong to the trees, trying to delay the inevitable. We went to Phillipsburg Manor, which as the website description states, was once a working farm that used to “rely on a community of 23 enslaved Africans to operate the complex.”
The night before the field trip, I wondered out loud to my husband how much discussion of these slaves would take place during the visit. We have not discussed slavery with L yet. We have not told her about 9/11, or the Holocaust, and a year ago, I made sure she did not hear about the massacre at Sandy Hook.