When I was growing up my parents had a housekeeper named Odessa. She was a tall and stately-looking Black woman, and I adored her. In the mornings before my mother left for work Odessa arrived, made sure I finished my breakfast, and walked me the few blocks to school. And at 3:00 she’d be there to walk me home, and I’ll regale her with all that happened in school that day. Our Bronx house had three stories – my father’s medical office was on the first floor, and...