This is the last post in this series on growing up racist in a racist world.  I am grateful to any person who has read one or more of these posts.  I do not write to be read; I don't even write thinking about readers.  I write to reflect.  Writing these posts helps me to...[more]

My whole life changed forever in the summer of 1969.  It is still being changed by the greatness of the grace of God.  Just less than one year after my Dad's death, I was met by my real father who I discovered loved me in ways that I could not and still cannot comprehend:  He...[more]

My summer days in my childhood were spent on the job with my Dad.  My family camped from Memorial Day through Labor Day each summer at Elijah Clark State Park located seven miles exactly form our home.  We moved out on Memorial Day weekend and except for visits during the week to cut...[more]