Phyll,
Fort Worth, TX.
At 62 years old, I am a child of thw Civil Rights struggles. When my son was born in 1971, I was committed to raising him without the excess baggage of race. It didn’t take but one sleepover for his Pee Wee Football team that the White boys weren’t allow to attend because we lived in a Black neighborhood. One White mother even suggested that we host the sleepover at her house so the White kids could attend. Her house was not as nice or nearly as clean as ours.
