The Day I Learned I Was a Racist
His name was James Robert Fuller Jr., but everyone called him Bobo. He was a year younger than I, and I had known him all my life. He lived in a small white frame house in the black neighborhood behind Granddaddy's store. There seemed to be nothing unusual or special about Bobo; he was just another black boy. But Bobo, a child I often looked down upon because of his blackness and his poverty, showed me the emotional power that racial prejudice ...