My experience with racism is embarrassing, because I was the perpetrator. I was about eight years old. Just a kid growing up in the Midwest in the early 1970s. My dad had invited a Black man and his family to dinner at our home in Ann Arbor, Michigan. He served with this man in Vietnam, and that’s all I know. This gentleman came to our house with his wife and two girls. Today, I wonder what was going through his mind. That was a risky venture for sure. White people so often blow past all of the sensitivities, focused instead
