Notes on Race



I was five years old, when, at a Catholic School in South Florida a classmate pushed my shoulder lightly.

“I’m not talking to you because you’re black,” she said. Then she turned her back to me and rejoined the conversation with her friends. Then again, after lunch, the same scenario. I went home that evening and told my mother, and all parties (she and her mother) were brought to the school for a meeting. At the very same picnic table where the incident occurred her mother apologized.

 

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