As a teenager my father, a Native Southern Son (NC and VA), was drafted to serve in the segregated U.S. Army during World War II. Shortly after he was honorably discharged from the Army in 1946, he moved to Brooklyn, NY. He never talked about growing up in the segregated South or serving in the segregated U.S. Army, but every summer around the 4th of July he would get in his Caddy and drive South to visit family — the 1960s and early 70s. He never took any of us South. I often wonder if, as a WWII veteran, he was targeted by white racists and decided to flee the South. Later, as a student of American history, I came to understand that my father did not want to subject his first-born son to the ways of white folk in the South, and he probably knew that I would not be able to navigate the racist rules because I grew up NOT afraid of white folk. If he ever thought about me joining him on his road trip South, then he probably thought about Emmett Till and quickly abandoned that idea.

Lest we forget!