Chapter One - Raised Racist

I was born in January, 1961, the year “To Kill A Mockingbird” won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction. It was a story about racism and social injustice and was adapted into a film that, amazingly, went on to claim three academy awards the following year.  Although the story was technically fiction, to many it was real and daunting. 

I was raised in Jacksonville, Florida, a place known for race riots and Klan attacks. One such attack is famously known as Ax Handle Saturday. On August 27, 1960, the Ku Klux Klan led a white mob that violently attacked Black protesters who were engaged in a peaceful sit-in. Had my terrified mother — 5 months pregnant with me at the time — not begged my deeply racist father to stay home that day, he would have been part of that white mob.

As a very small child, I remember my family talking about the dangerous riots and the scary N…s across town. We lived our racism openly and used all the familiar language that supported us doing so. Riding in the car with my mother one day, I saw a black lady waiting at a bus stop in our all-white suburban neighborhood. “Look Mommy, a N…!” I exclaimed. She shushed me and ordered me to roll the window up and lock the door. I can still see the deep sad frown on that lady’s face. How awful she must have felt, to hear those words from a small white child.