1 minute read

One Voice: Lessons

by Amy Barnes

When I was very young, my mother shared a couple of lessons on racism that I would never forget.

It all started with a children's rhyme that I was taught by the other kids in the neighborhood.

I did not know what all of the words meant, I was 5 years old and had no idea that what I was singing while happily swinging on my swing set was anything more than nonsense words.

That is, until my mother came flying out the backdoor, the absolute picture of unleashed rage.

To read the rest of this column, please go to https://bit.ly/33YPOTH

This article is from: