I saw hurt in his eyes

Ed Karesky
Escondido, CA

When I was in fourth grade a new family moved into our lower middle class apartment complex. They were African American. I was out riding my bicycle with a friend when the six year old of that family rode his bike up to us and asked if he could ride with us. We said “no” and I saw the look of hurt in his eyes before we rode away. Later, I thought about it and wondered if he thought it was because he was Black that we didn’t want to ride with him. It wasn’t. My best friend in school named Bobby was Black. It was because we thought he was too young and wouldn’t be able to keep up. I never saw that young boy again but 55 years later, at the age of 65, I still remember his face and regret we didn’t let him join us.


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