An Autobiography of Race

*This is one of the scariest things I’ve written, still not knowing if they are words of offense or healing. I’ve decided to risk mucking this up in favor of honestly embracing my failure and acknowledging my hope for personal change. Lord help me. I am in a Tennessee locker room in 6th grade when…

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The Unfiltered World

The morning after the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, I went downstairs to find the kitchen table strangely empty. I’d grown used to seeing the Chicago Tribune scattered by section across the table, my parents taking turns picking through each segment.

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