I was hesitant to move to Vermont for only one reason (well, maybe two reasons, if you count the long winter).
I grew up in Mount Pleasant, an urban neighborhood in Washington, D.C., in the 1970s and 1980s. During my youth, this area of the city was equal parts white, black, and Latino. The row houses on the surrounding blocks were peppered with neighbors of different backgrounds and classes, packed closely.
When I attended private school with kids from primarily white neighborhoods, I quickly realized that I had received a gift of perspective. There is less of a feeling of “other” when you see families with different beliefs, dress, and skin color every day.
Not to paint a picture of utopian bliss, as there was plenty of drama, but we saw one another as different and respected. It is harder to objectify people or families when you spend time in their homes, see their children grow up, or watch them go to work every morning.