Three decades ago, I moved to a school 15 miles north of my home in San Francisco. My father, conversely, moved to Amsterdam - a bit further away. From my father, I inherited mischievous eyes, a smooth forehead, and a complex relationship to exceptionalism. Like I, he was one of few Black students in an otherwise White student body. He, bussed over from Newark, a result of municipal integration policies; I, bussed over from San Francisco, a result of, depending on whom you ask, fierce intelligence or that gosh darn affirmative action. I later gleaned from lifelong friends that every unhappy family at my suburban school was indeed unhappy in its own way. But in September 1990, I saw only happy families - and they all looked very much alike.