Since the topic of race has been so prevalent lately, I figured I'd share my experiences and stories of racism just for the hell of it.
(DISCLAIMER: all Names, People, or Places pertaining to my life, have been altered for the safety, protection and reputation of anyone living or dead.)
To begin, let me paint the picture so y'all can understand.
My dad is from India, my mom is from the good 'ole Carolinas. I'm one of those nice "Rainbow Children" Martin Luther King Jr. "had a dream" about.
Growing up in a relatively small, southern town, where strangers blatantly walk up to you and rhetorically ask:
"Your people aren't from around here, are they?".
The type of area where half the town shows up to the family reunion. The type of area where everyone are democrats. Seriously. I mean EVERYONE. The number of republicans can literally be counted up to lower double-digits. And boy, do they get "the looks" during election season. Speaking of elections, this small generationally, liberal town, loved it when John Edwards and Hillary Clinton passed through during the 2008 presidential elections. In other words, this small, southern town is the proverbial Redneckville. Now mind you, the place isn't ALL white. At least half are black (the half that didn't show up to the family reunion), with the occasional Native American, Asian, Hispanic, and of course Indian. Who register on the town census... as white??
Well, with such a lovely place as this, how can you EVER imagine there being ANY racial tension.
Racism hurts everyone; children, adults, and whole families. Many an argument my parents had were because of the racial tension their marriage and at times my existence, stirred.
"Why is Mommy crying? Why won't the other kids play with me? I didn't know I looked different from them. Why did they kick and throw sand at me? Is there something wrong with me? Why did that girl's mommy say I can't be friends with her? Why is Mommy and Dada yelling about what that bad lady said today? I wish I didn't have black hair... I wonder if the kids would like me if my skin looked like theirs...." These are not things a child should be thinking, and yet, I did.
I can say as a bonafide fact racism hurts a hell of a lot worse as a child than it does when you're older. When you're a child your world is small and everything seems to revolve around you. So when another child or even an adult insults you on something that can't be helped, like race, you internalize that negativity to mean there's something wrong with you, instead of there being something wrong with them.
When I was younger (still some today), I was prejudiced against for being mixed or simply darker complexioned, by white people, AND for being part white or lighter complexioned, by black people. These acts of intolerance ranged anywhere from: being called a n*gger, getting kicked off the playground by the other children, to being asked to leave a church.
So, without further ado, I'll list off the Top 4 Most Memorable Racist Events of my life (so far).
The BBB (Black Bleacher Brigade)
This exchange wasn't directed at me, but is still one of the most racially charged memories I can remember.
My mom had a black friend, Freddie, who was originally from Trinidad. Tall, flowy dreadlocks, big, pearly-white smile, and a Reggae version of Pharrell William's 'Happy' as her theme song. Meeting her you'd never imagine she could probably kill you and not think twice about it... (I'll explain this in a minute.)
Anyway, her family moved down here from New York for business reasons. Her six y/o daughter (my best friend) and seven y/o me, joined the local basketball team, thinking it'd be a great experience for us kids. It was, for the short time it lasted, but certainly not for our mothers.
During one of our tournaments my mom and Freddie sat down on a random bleacher amongst some other women. Unaware the only white person on the bleachers was my mom; the situation was quickly made apparent when a woman behind them kicked my mom in the back. Confused, she turned to the woman and politely asked what the matter was.
"Get your marshmallow ass outta our chocolate!" The woman yelled (among other words I won't dare mention).
Freddie whipped around and told her my mom was a friend and insinuated she and the other women show some manners if they knew what was good for them. the woman along with her posse of fellow angry, black, Mominators (not taking the hint), mouthed back, "If you're friends with a marshmallow then that makes you a marshmallow too! So get your asses off our damn bench!"
Now, Freddie, who had done three tours in the U.S. Army, one of which was in Bosnia, stood up and readied herself to perform a Mortal Kombat move on the women, gladly accepting the inevitable assault charges (and probable murder charges) when she finished. My mom, reading Freddie's body language, quickly grabbed her by the arm, "It's not worth it. Let's just move." she said. So they did. Not without some sailor-worthy language being muttered through the process.
And that my friends, is how my possible All-Star basketball career was ended. *sniffle*
Prejudice on the Playground
There's this big misconception that all homeschoolers are hermits who lack any and all social skills. Because of this lie, people also think we never have to deal with bullies. WRONG.
At around eight years old my family was apart of a homeschool group, made up of other families from around the county. They would get together every week for the children to play, and the parents to discuss new laws and plan field trips.
A new family who had moved down from Oklahoma, joined the group, and with them came my sworn enemy for the next four years.
First time ever meeting the girl and she asks, "what are you?"
"I'm Indian." I explained.
"Eww you're a Indian girl!" This was only the beginning...
For some unholy reason the worst people become the most liked.
It felt like a freakin' conspiracy because of how fast she turned all the other kids on her side.
"Don't play with her. She's a Indian girl!"
To make matters worse, her family got in good with the Doctors, Lawyers, and Indian Chiefs of the group, which somehow gave them overlording, esteem by-proxy.
I fully blame her parents for making such a retched child. She was manipulative, tore up my favorite comic book, beat me up, gave me nightmares, turned my friends against me, and spread such prolific rumors that it even got around to our elderly neighbor!
Also, because I was so much bigger and she came across so meek to the adults, no one believed me 85% of time, I was dismissed when I said she was the one who caused a bloody scratch from my shoulder to forearm.
Every time I'd see her, I'd hope she'd choke to death on her own spit. Anger issues? I think they were somewhat justified.
Quite frankly, even to this day, I don't care if she became the next Mother Theresa. She'll always be remembered in my mind as the infection who ruined my life for four years and haunted for another two.
What's so sad, is in situations like these all you get told is "don't hold bitterness", "forgive them" and "turn the other cheek"... Yeah. I only have four cheeks. Once you've exhausted the first two, you can kiss my ass after that.
"What Gum?"
When I was eight my family attended Northfield River Baptist Church. --Not the real name (View Disclaimer Above). But, It has to have 'a name' for the purpose of differentiating it from another Baptist church I'll be mentioning later on.
Anyway, for the longest time it was nice, I participated in the AWANA program. There wasn't any trouble or outright racial prejudices looming around. Except, for the one sermon the presiding pastor gave, calling immigrant farm workers "wetbacks". This struck a nerve with my dad, who worked in soybean fields before getting a job as a computer programmer. Though somewhat insulting, we were willing to let it slide as simple ignorance.
Two years passed with no further issues arising. Until, I decided to go to the summer VBS program. That's when all hell broke loose.
There were 15 of us kids, ages ranging 10-16, all cramped into one, 70's wood-paneled room. The youth leader wasn't there yet, so I figured, I'd enjoy one of my last three pieces of Wrigley spearmint gum.
Let's remember, I, a homeschooled child, was unaware of the socialist, public school rule: "if you have gum, you better share it with the whole damn class!"
Well... two, white, 16 y/o girls (one of which, the main aggressor, was 6ft 2in, weighed at least 200lbs) spouted across the room, "HEY YOU! Give us some gum!"
Not liking their attitude, I lied and said I didn't have anymore. OF COURSE I could've saved myself a whole lot of trouble by just giving them the gum, but I REALLY hated giving into bullies. Especially ones with such lack of manners. *cue: Turned-Up Snob Nose*
They continued pushing, eventually asking me to prove it. Simultaneously, the youth leader walked in and the two girls told her I wouldn't give them any gum (they were right). Mrs. Wendy told me to give them the gum.
However, unbeknownst to me, the gum had *mysteriously* slipped out of the pack into my pocket. Taking advantage of this stroke of luck, I showed them the empty pack; with the immediate issue being nullified. Though, it didn't end the dirty looks and sneers that continued for the next hour.
Break-time came, and the knowledge of my imminent danger suddenly grew in my mind. I quickly ran outside, making sure I couldn't be seen and threw the pieces of gum into an adjacent bush. That was my first recollected attempt at destroying evidence. Hillary Clinton would be proud.
The two girls rounded the corner and Amazon Amy pinned me to the brick wall:
"I know you little, Indian nigger has gum! Show me your pockets!"
*shows them my empty pockets*
Amazon Amy spat at me, walked away and yelled, "Whatever!"
Getting bullied and called a n*gger by two teenagers, six years older than me, wasn't even that bad. The worst part was the pastor's reaction when we explained the situation to him.
He told us if I had gum, I should've known to bring enough for everyone. And if Amazon Amy called me a n*gger, then it must be true. Needless to say, that was the first and last time I'd be part of VBS at Northfield River Baptist Church.
"Forgive me Father for I'm a child of the Damned."
Come to think of it, I should really have a hatred for churches, religion and just plain people in general... But I don't.
After leaving Northfield River Baptist Church, we began attending the First Baptist, per recommendation of a family friend, Mrs. Chester, who was the AWANA program director.
Once again, everything started out great. My mom became one of the youth leaders. I enjoyed going to a church where my friends were at as well.
Like the old church, we weren't pressured into becoming members. Having lingering trust issues, church membership was benched until further notice. However, that didn't stop us from paying tithes every Sunday and contributing as if we were members.
The following year Mrs. Chester moved away and a new program director took her place.
At the church Halloween Jamboree my mom was pulled to the side by the new director. Unaware I could see and hear everything that was said; the conversation goes as followed (with a few paraphrases):
"Is there an issue?"
"Well... Y-yes. I.. I'm afraid you can't continue as a youth leader at this church."
"Why?? Were there complaints made by any of the parents or children?
"Well, no. It's just, unless you become a member we feel it'd send the wrong message to the other congregates."
"First of all, who is 'we' and second, what message would be sent?"
"We, as in Pastor John and I.. And...Well...uh...He he...."
"Mmm..hmm."
"I mean, if you don't want to become a member, your daughter is still welcome. After all, her kind needs the proper spiritual guidance."
"What do you mean 'her kind'??"
"Well... you know."
"Mixed race?"
"Erm.. yes."
"I see... How DARE you suggest my daughter is somehow spiritually INFERIOR for being another race."
"I think it's best if you leave before you cause a scene."
My mom kept it together until we made it to the car. She cried all the way home.
Honorable Mentions:
When Trolls Leave the Bridge
One of the first REALLY insulting trolls I encountered on Twitter, called me an "ugly Paki that should be deported" (among other things). I told him I was a first generation American of a legal Indian immigrant. The next day he came back calling me a "chubby, teenage, hairy, yenta who probably supports the Likud party". I laughed my metaphorical ass off, because he was pretty accurate on this one. I'm a teenager who's chubby, Jewish (thanks mom), a little hairy, and I do in fact support Prime Minister Netanyahu who's apart of the Likud party.
So I r8ed his b8 8/8 and happily blocked him.
"So, you were saying...."
Once again, this wasn't an experience that directly happened to me, but has affected my life. In fact, I actually associate with some of the people I'm mentioning below, through the local Arts Committee and other community events. Now, I'll tell the story the way it was told to me.
When my dad came to America his sponsor was a Christian Ministry. He stayed with them for many years as a church member, even teaching math at their private school for a while. That was until a leadership and philosophical switch happened. It basically turned into a cult with a speciality in lies and gossip. My dad left with a bad taste in his mouth, while simultaneously, giving the resident "Church Pew Scandalizers" a juicy piece of gossip to twist and chew on.
So isn't it a shock to my mom months later, when she's at Walmart and hears this group of women on the next aisle, talking very loudly about a man who sounds exactly like her husband. With a 12 m/o me strapped into the shopping cart, mom went around to where the gaggling geese were and promptly joined in on their gossip session. Apparently they didn't recognize her or I.
"Rami has really backslidden in the faith. Have you heard about that woman he's been shacking up with?"
"That white woman? Yeah I've seen her around."
"Oh yeah, and their bastard child!"
"Poor thing will have to grow up in one of those unstable homes."
"Mmm Hmm.. I know what ya mean."
This type of asinine banter went on for another 15 minutes before they were about to leave. Finally, my mom (as brazenly as I can imagine) turned face-on towards them, "Just for the record... I'm Rami's WIFE... Of FIVE years." She lifted me out of the shopping cart, "And this is that BASTARD child. Rami and I will make sure to pray for you ladies. Now have a nice day."
She smiled and left them stuttering over their own stupidity.
In Conclusion
Since I've been older I haven't had the problems I did as a child. I've frequently met the children now turned adults and adults now turned elderly adults, who caused my family and I such turmoil.
Not sure if anything has really changed, or if the main offenders simply don't have the balls anymore to pick on someone their own size.
I understand the stories and experiences I've shared are nothing in comparison to many other's racial tribulations. At least I wasn't shot to death... *looking at you, Charleston*. But, I just wanted to put it out there. Maybe it will help someone else. If not, it was still nice to write most of it down.
~ AM Sam
(DISCLAIMER: all Names, People, or Places pertaining to my life, have been altered for the safety, protection and reputation of anyone living or dead.)
To begin, let me paint the picture so y'all can understand.
My dad is from India, my mom is from the good 'ole Carolinas. I'm one of those nice "Rainbow Children" Martin Luther King Jr. "had a dream" about.
Growing up in a relatively small, southern town, where strangers blatantly walk up to you and rhetorically ask:
"Your people aren't from around here, are they?".
The type of area where half the town shows up to the family reunion. The type of area where everyone are democrats. Seriously. I mean EVERYONE. The number of republicans can literally be counted up to lower double-digits. And boy, do they get "the looks" during election season. Speaking of elections, this small generationally, liberal town, loved it when John Edwards and Hillary Clinton passed through during the 2008 presidential elections. In other words, this small, southern town is the proverbial Redneckville. Now mind you, the place isn't ALL white. At least half are black (the half that didn't show up to the family reunion), with the occasional Native American, Asian, Hispanic, and of course Indian. Who register on the town census... as white??
Well, with such a lovely place as this, how can you EVER imagine there being ANY racial tension.
Racism hurts everyone; children, adults, and whole families. Many an argument my parents had were because of the racial tension their marriage and at times my existence, stirred.
"Why is Mommy crying? Why won't the other kids play with me? I didn't know I looked different from them. Why did they kick and throw sand at me? Is there something wrong with me? Why did that girl's mommy say I can't be friends with her? Why is Mommy and Dada yelling about what that bad lady said today? I wish I didn't have black hair... I wonder if the kids would like me if my skin looked like theirs...." These are not things a child should be thinking, and yet, I did.
I can say as a bonafide fact racism hurts a hell of a lot worse as a child than it does when you're older. When you're a child your world is small and everything seems to revolve around you. So when another child or even an adult insults you on something that can't be helped, like race, you internalize that negativity to mean there's something wrong with you, instead of there being something wrong with them.
When I was younger (still some today), I was prejudiced against for being mixed or simply darker complexioned, by white people, AND for being part white or lighter complexioned, by black people. These acts of intolerance ranged anywhere from: being called a n*gger, getting kicked off the playground by the other children, to being asked to leave a church.
So, without further ado, I'll list off the Top 4 Most Memorable Racist Events of my life (so far).
The BBB (Black Bleacher Brigade)
This exchange wasn't directed at me, but is still one of the most racially charged memories I can remember.
My mom had a black friend, Freddie, who was originally from Trinidad. Tall, flowy dreadlocks, big, pearly-white smile, and a Reggae version of Pharrell William's 'Happy' as her theme song. Meeting her you'd never imagine she could probably kill you and not think twice about it... (I'll explain this in a minute.)
Anyway, her family moved down here from New York for business reasons. Her six y/o daughter (my best friend) and seven y/o me, joined the local basketball team, thinking it'd be a great experience for us kids. It was, for the short time it lasted, but certainly not for our mothers.
During one of our tournaments my mom and Freddie sat down on a random bleacher amongst some other women. Unaware the only white person on the bleachers was my mom; the situation was quickly made apparent when a woman behind them kicked my mom in the back. Confused, she turned to the woman and politely asked what the matter was.
"Get your marshmallow ass outta our chocolate!" The woman yelled (among other words I won't dare mention).
Freddie whipped around and told her my mom was a friend and insinuated she and the other women show some manners if they knew what was good for them. the woman along with her posse of fellow angry, black, Mominators (not taking the hint), mouthed back, "If you're friends with a marshmallow then that makes you a marshmallow too! So get your asses off our damn bench!"
Now, Freddie, who had done three tours in the U.S. Army, one of which was in Bosnia, stood up and readied herself to perform a Mortal Kombat move on the women, gladly accepting the inevitable assault charges (and probable murder charges) when she finished. My mom, reading Freddie's body language, quickly grabbed her by the arm, "It's not worth it. Let's just move." she said. So they did. Not without some sailor-worthy language being muttered through the process.
And that my friends, is how my possible All-Star basketball career was ended. *sniffle*
Prejudice on the Playground
There's this big misconception that all homeschoolers are hermits who lack any and all social skills. Because of this lie, people also think we never have to deal with bullies. WRONG.
At around eight years old my family was apart of a homeschool group, made up of other families from around the county. They would get together every week for the children to play, and the parents to discuss new laws and plan field trips.
A new family who had moved down from Oklahoma, joined the group, and with them came my sworn enemy for the next four years.
First time ever meeting the girl and she asks, "what are you?"
"I'm Indian." I explained.
"Eww you're a Indian girl!" This was only the beginning...
For some unholy reason the worst people become the most liked.
It felt like a freakin' conspiracy because of how fast she turned all the other kids on her side.
"Don't play with her. She's a Indian girl!"
To make matters worse, her family got in good with the Doctors, Lawyers, and Indian Chiefs of the group, which somehow gave them overlording, esteem by-proxy.
I fully blame her parents for making such a retched child. She was manipulative, tore up my favorite comic book, beat me up, gave me nightmares, turned my friends against me, and spread such prolific rumors that it even got around to our elderly neighbor!
Also, because I was so much bigger and she came across so meek to the adults, no one believed me 85% of time, I was dismissed when I said she was the one who caused a bloody scratch from my shoulder to forearm.
Every time I'd see her, I'd hope she'd choke to death on her own spit. Anger issues? I think they were somewhat justified.
Quite frankly, even to this day, I don't care if she became the next Mother Theresa. She'll always be remembered in my mind as the infection who ruined my life for four years and haunted for another two.
What's so sad, is in situations like these all you get told is "don't hold bitterness", "forgive them" and "turn the other cheek"... Yeah. I only have four cheeks. Once you've exhausted the first two, you can kiss my ass after that.
"What Gum?"
When I was eight my family attended Northfield River Baptist Church. --Not the real name (View Disclaimer Above). But, It has to have 'a name' for the purpose of differentiating it from another Baptist church I'll be mentioning later on.
Anyway, for the longest time it was nice, I participated in the AWANA program. There wasn't any trouble or outright racial prejudices looming around. Except, for the one sermon the presiding pastor gave, calling immigrant farm workers "wetbacks". This struck a nerve with my dad, who worked in soybean fields before getting a job as a computer programmer. Though somewhat insulting, we were willing to let it slide as simple ignorance.
Two years passed with no further issues arising. Until, I decided to go to the summer VBS program. That's when all hell broke loose.
There were 15 of us kids, ages ranging 10-16, all cramped into one, 70's wood-paneled room. The youth leader wasn't there yet, so I figured, I'd enjoy one of my last three pieces of Wrigley spearmint gum.
Let's remember, I, a homeschooled child, was unaware of the socialist, public school rule: "if you have gum, you better share it with the whole damn class!"
Well... two, white, 16 y/o girls (one of which, the main aggressor, was 6ft 2in, weighed at least 200lbs) spouted across the room, "HEY YOU! Give us some gum!"
Not liking their attitude, I lied and said I didn't have anymore. OF COURSE I could've saved myself a whole lot of trouble by just giving them the gum, but I REALLY hated giving into bullies. Especially ones with such lack of manners. *cue: Turned-Up Snob Nose*
They continued pushing, eventually asking me to prove it. Simultaneously, the youth leader walked in and the two girls told her I wouldn't give them any gum (they were right). Mrs. Wendy told me to give them the gum.
However, unbeknownst to me, the gum had *mysteriously* slipped out of the pack into my pocket. Taking advantage of this stroke of luck, I showed them the empty pack; with the immediate issue being nullified. Though, it didn't end the dirty looks and sneers that continued for the next hour.
Break-time came, and the knowledge of my imminent danger suddenly grew in my mind. I quickly ran outside, making sure I couldn't be seen and threw the pieces of gum into an adjacent bush. That was my first recollected attempt at destroying evidence. Hillary Clinton would be proud.
The two girls rounded the corner and Amazon Amy pinned me to the brick wall:
"I know you little, Indian nigger has gum! Show me your pockets!"
*shows them my empty pockets*
Amazon Amy spat at me, walked away and yelled, "Whatever!"
Getting bullied and called a n*gger by two teenagers, six years older than me, wasn't even that bad. The worst part was the pastor's reaction when we explained the situation to him.
He told us if I had gum, I should've known to bring enough for everyone. And if Amazon Amy called me a n*gger, then it must be true. Needless to say, that was the first and last time I'd be part of VBS at Northfield River Baptist Church.
"Forgive me Father for I'm a child of the Damned."
Come to think of it, I should really have a hatred for churches, religion and just plain people in general... But I don't.
After leaving Northfield River Baptist Church, we began attending the First Baptist, per recommendation of a family friend, Mrs. Chester, who was the AWANA program director.
Once again, everything started out great. My mom became one of the youth leaders. I enjoyed going to a church where my friends were at as well.
Like the old church, we weren't pressured into becoming members. Having lingering trust issues, church membership was benched until further notice. However, that didn't stop us from paying tithes every Sunday and contributing as if we were members.
The following year Mrs. Chester moved away and a new program director took her place.
At the church Halloween Jamboree my mom was pulled to the side by the new director. Unaware I could see and hear everything that was said; the conversation goes as followed (with a few paraphrases):
"Is there an issue?"
"Well... Y-yes. I.. I'm afraid you can't continue as a youth leader at this church."
"Why?? Were there complaints made by any of the parents or children?
"Well, no. It's just, unless you become a member we feel it'd send the wrong message to the other congregates."
"First of all, who is 'we' and second, what message would be sent?"
"We, as in Pastor John and I.. And...Well...uh...He he...."
"Mmm..hmm."
"I mean, if you don't want to become a member, your daughter is still welcome. After all, her kind needs the proper spiritual guidance."
"What do you mean 'her kind'??"
"Well... you know."
"Mixed race?"
"Erm.. yes."
"I see... How DARE you suggest my daughter is somehow spiritually INFERIOR for being another race."
"I think it's best if you leave before you cause a scene."
My mom kept it together until we made it to the car. She cried all the way home.
Honorable Mentions:
When Trolls Leave the Bridge
One of the first REALLY insulting trolls I encountered on Twitter, called me an "ugly Paki that should be deported" (among other things). I told him I was a first generation American of a legal Indian immigrant. The next day he came back calling me a "chubby, teenage, hairy, yenta who probably supports the Likud party". I laughed my metaphorical ass off, because he was pretty accurate on this one. I'm a teenager who's chubby, Jewish (thanks mom), a little hairy, and I do in fact support Prime Minister Netanyahu who's apart of the Likud party.
So I r8ed his b8 8/8 and happily blocked him.
"So, you were saying...."
Once again, this wasn't an experience that directly happened to me, but has affected my life. In fact, I actually associate with some of the people I'm mentioning below, through the local Arts Committee and other community events. Now, I'll tell the story the way it was told to me.
When my dad came to America his sponsor was a Christian Ministry. He stayed with them for many years as a church member, even teaching math at their private school for a while. That was until a leadership and philosophical switch happened. It basically turned into a cult with a speciality in lies and gossip. My dad left with a bad taste in his mouth, while simultaneously, giving the resident "Church Pew Scandalizers" a juicy piece of gossip to twist and chew on.
So isn't it a shock to my mom months later, when she's at Walmart and hears this group of women on the next aisle, talking very loudly about a man who sounds exactly like her husband. With a 12 m/o me strapped into the shopping cart, mom went around to where the gaggling geese were and promptly joined in on their gossip session. Apparently they didn't recognize her or I.
"Rami has really backslidden in the faith. Have you heard about that woman he's been shacking up with?"
"That white woman? Yeah I've seen her around."
"Oh yeah, and their bastard child!"
"Poor thing will have to grow up in one of those unstable homes."
"Mmm Hmm.. I know what ya mean."
This type of asinine banter went on for another 15 minutes before they were about to leave. Finally, my mom (as brazenly as I can imagine) turned face-on towards them, "Just for the record... I'm Rami's WIFE... Of FIVE years." She lifted me out of the shopping cart, "And this is that BASTARD child. Rami and I will make sure to pray for you ladies. Now have a nice day."
She smiled and left them stuttering over their own stupidity.
In Conclusion
Since I've been older I haven't had the problems I did as a child. I've frequently met the children now turned adults and adults now turned elderly adults, who caused my family and I such turmoil.
Not sure if anything has really changed, or if the main offenders simply don't have the balls anymore to pick on someone their own size.
I understand the stories and experiences I've shared are nothing in comparison to many other's racial tribulations. At least I wasn't shot to death... *looking at you, Charleston*. But, I just wanted to put it out there. Maybe it will help someone else. If not, it was still nice to write most of it down.
~ AM Sam