Fire the editor! Fire the publisher! Fire somebody! Hell, call a fucking exorcist over to Marietta Street at this point. There really should be an award given to this story for the hideous, patronizing writing “style.” From the AJC – apparently now hiring only the most ridiculous writers on the planet.
Whatcha wanna bet the Used Car Guy they just promoted to run Cox Plantation Newspapers thinks this is, like, Pulitzer kinda material. Pardon me while I hurl as you read over just this portion of the whole monstrosity about something that was never newsworthy in the first place:
Donnelly turns the pages in the photo album to a picture of an African-American boy standing next to her at school back in New Orleans. “He and a white guy and I would fashion ourselves after the Mod Squad,” she says. “We liked to think of ourselves as a little club.”
The friendship started in fifth or sixth grade. And Donnelly sees it as evidence that children have the right instincts.
Truth is, many paths to the future start with the past. Donnelly thought she’d left that Princeton dorm room for good. Then those long fingers from the campaign trail waved her back inside. At first, she saw only herself and two roommates.
Now she sees her children and Obama’s children waking up in those beds, in a room with no barriers.