The flow of tales, prayers, discoveries and dreams of my childhood would not have been as deep without Vivian Harris. Vivian, a mother of eleven, had been an integral part of our family since my early childhood. I would visit Vivian and her children every weekend, spending long hours around her, learning from her how to handle everyday life's many challenges. Vivian -- straight forward and magnanimous, kneading the dough of life while listening to Bible lessons on the radio -- left LA for South Carolina. She wanted her children "to grow up knowing where they stood." Her departure ruptured the innocence of my vision of America's racial relations at the time. Vivian came back to me many years later, after I adopted my first three children, and helped me raise them.

In 2005 I was among those eulogizing Rosa Parks, a Noel Foundation awardee. Each speaker told a poignant story about Rosa's human dignity and courage. When it was my turn to speak, I thought of Vivian and how I flew to South Carolina after her death. Vivian's daughter Brenda and I drove around in search of a cemetery where she would be laid to rest. After driving for hours, I finally found one that had the tranquility and elegance worthy of Vivian. Her daughter interrupted my excitement by quietly pointing out that the cemetery I found for Vivian was for white people only. We have come far, Rosa Parks, I said at the state funeral, but not far enough.

Rosa and Vivian inspire The Noel Foundation's programs for inner city kids. Vivian did not live to the day when she would be in peace anywhere she wanted to stand. I so hope that my children and I will live to the time when each American child, regardless of race or religion, will know that there are equal opportunities for all, no matter where they stand.