i remember my first awakening to racism as a boy of 10 or 11. it happened one sunday morning at the large downtown episcopal cathedral i grew up in and around. one of the oldest families in the church was a black family. i was introduced to the oldest member of our parish by my father, the sexton, a glorified church term for the maintenance man. introductions were passed around, my father showing off his family. the woman, in her 90s smiled and said to me, nice to meet you sir. i almost cried.
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