There are elements of this blog that may tend to portray me in a less-than-flattering light, but that’s OK (I think). I’ve decided that, nevertheless, it’s a story worth telling. Years ago when I was a teenager — OK, many years ago — my family and I were visiting my father’s relatives in rural west Tennessee. Somehow, Sidney Poitier came up as a topic of conversation. “He’s not a (n-word)” one male relative (not my father) opined. “Why, he’s as black as ...” said the other (also not my father). “But he’s not a (n-word),” responded the first. Translation: The only thing worse than a black man is an uppity black man, one who speaks English better than we do. Now, did I challenge this blatant racism and use of a vile epithet, coming from members of my own extended family? No. I was a teenager taught to respect my elders, was a guest on their turf, and held genuine affection for both men. That said, their bigotry, and my tolerance of it, was as wrong then as now. M...
Congratulations on your "retirement", Rick!
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