I watched my first-grade foster son dash from the bus to the kitchen door on a cool, sunny February afternoon. Dark brown eyes twinkled above his pug nose and wide grin. A caramel-colored hand clutched black silhouettes of Presidents Washington and Lincoln affixed to red construction paper backgrounds. Thrusting a long-nosed, bearded profile toward me, Billy shared the excitement of his first history lesson.
“Mom, did you know Abraham Lincoln cut down a cherry tree, but he confessed ’cause he was honest and couldn’t tell a lie?”
“That was George Washington,” I said, pointing to the wigged, clean-shaven outline.
Astonishment flashed across his face. “Wow, Mom! Did you know him?”