Don’t use that word, that word is wrong, horrible, it’s all about hate, and you ain’t got that kinda hate, so don’t use it!
I had no idea. And by the way, why would anyone hate black people? I thought about James and his parents. Mrs McAllister, a Jamaican woman, I believe. She could cook! Always something tasty on the stove at James’s house. Warm and welcoming. A real person. I liked her a lot. His father, friendly, mostly serious, and occasionally laughing in a sincere, profound, manner, that was contagious. A good house. A home.
I lived in the Azores, a small archipelago of islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, specifically the island of Terceira, home to Lajes Field, a US air force base. My father was assigned to the base.
The Azores, the closest continent Europe, 1000 miles away, cobblestone streets, horse-drawn carts, old villages, all set in rolling green fields and the magnificent and ubiquitous ocean.
Surrounded by all that water, so little land, however beautiful, drove some American visitors nuts. Not me. The island was my playground.