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I was around 7. I’d visit my dad in Kansas. One night he took me to meet his drinking buddies. As you do as a father. They just got shit faced and talked about how terrible the blacks and Jews were. He’d regale me with stories about throwing spark plugs and batteries at them from his truck. As a kid I never understood why I was supposed to hate them too.
As I grew older I realized that he took me to a klan light meeting. They weren’t too organized and they didn’t have hoods.
I always knew it was wrong but went along with it through my childhood. Not fighting it is something I’ve always regretted. That deep seeded racism keeps me up sometimes. Knowing that my children will experience it kills me. It’s why I’m so passionate about it now.
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