My church friend and I were only about 7 years old when she leaned over in my ear and whispered, “Sometimes black people are so … scary.” We were standing in the hallway of the rented central New Jersey auditorium where we had church services. It was a diverse congregation – much more so than my suburban neighborhood – and a bunch of black kids had run by us, laughing and shouting, raucous in play. It was the start of my first conversation about race. I can still remember the shock of that moment, the twist in my stomach at ...
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