There was a time when I was very young that people would intimidate me because of the color of my skin.
My mother would put me on a Greyhound bus in Los Angeles and send me to Shreveport, La. to bond with my grandparents and other relatives. Once that bus got to El Paso, Texas, the driver would announce, “From here on out, we will observe segregation rules. Coloreds must sit in the back of the bus. When we come to rest stops, you must use restrooms and cafeterias designated as colored.”
It wasn’t just the Deep South. You could go into a restaurant in Los Angeles, San Francisco or Chicago and if it wasn’t Black-owned you would receive unwelcome stares.
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