The Racism RevolutionBy
The world was larger when I was growing up. Or it seemed that way. Long distance phone service was costly. Airfares weren’t deregulated, so people didn’t travel as much or as far. For those of us who didn’t live in the big cities, it was rare to meet people who looked or talked differently than oneself.
My family was taking a road trip later when I was about six, and at a stoplight, our car pulled over at an intersection next to a car driven by middle-aged black man. I rolled down the window and chatted amicably with the first black man I’d ever met face to face. As the light turned green, and he pulled away past the light, I shouted after him, “Bye bye, Chocolate Face!”
Did this make me a six-year old racist?
[Click the picture to read the rest of this fan-gdam-tastic article]