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Letter from a Recovering Racist

It all started with books. As soon as I learned to read, my world began to change. When I was born, my world was small. I grew up in the Deep South. Fields for miles. Mosquitoes big enough to drain you dry. I lived in the middle of nowhere. Everyone around me looked just like me . Until I started kindergarten. As I grew older, I learned beside people who didn't look like me. But as time went on, the lines were drawn in the sand. We were "us" and they were "them." The lines were drawn with words, attitudes, and beliefs. Were there big explosions of speech and blatant actions? Yes. But most were whispers. It's easy to deny a whisper. A look. A thought. An idea. But many whispers together make a lot of noise. And the sound was deafening. The older I grew, the more books I read. Although I interacted daily with people not like me, I never listened to their voices. Not in person. But I read. I read and I read and I read. I read boo