She tossed out her hands, tipping each extended arm like a scale, and proclaimed white chocolate to have no difference from dark chocolate.
Her voice boomed with authority, echoed off the vaulted ceilings of the that tiny gymnasium, and urged all 200 of the other children to listen and believe. Her arms flailed, her face scowled and softened, gesticulating human rights on her elementary school.
Oh, did I mention she was in fifth grade?
I sat in a metal folding chair behind a table decorated with pins and plaques and certificates of accomplishment. They invited me specially to judge their oratory skills as if my occupation as a writer meant something. Or maybe they meant to prove a point to a local journalist.
Ladies and gentlemen, these kids are the future.
We have nothing to worry about.
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