She couldn’t read. Ten years old, fatherless, and growing up in foster care, she wore illiteracy like cloak of shame. She bore it daily, with a head hung low. Whenever written words were put before her, she sheepishly told others nearby of her deficit.
“I can’t read,” she would say blankly. This little girl had many pains buried deep within, but this was one that she let others see. She found identity in her weakness.
One evening, I sat before a small gathering of kids at a nearby children’s home, and this young girl who couldn’t read was among the crowd.