When I read this story about raising a mixed-race child (in New York City of all places – some day I’ll write a post about limousine liberals), I was reminded of the stories my parents used to tell me about my aunt, my father’s sister, who adopted a mixed-race child and raised him. While grocery shopping in Michigan, where they lived at the time, it was assumed (on several occasions) that my aunt, whose skin was the color of milk chocolate, was the maid because my cousin has a French vanilla complexion and straight hair. That was 35 years ago. It is still news. How sad is that?