There is nothing I have read about Ferguson more poignant and moving than this piece.
I grew up in a small mid-western town in central Wisconsin. My formative years were spent running through woods, fishing in nearby rivers, and being afraid of neighborhood bullies. Most of the time I deserved what was coming to me from them, but that’s not my point. What I am suggesting is that though I was 12 years old and sometimes afraid, I didn’t have to be in constant fear of ignorant discrimination, character assassination, or racist commentary every time I left my doorstep. In fact, if you asked me then, I would not have known what any of those phrases really meant as they applied to my life.
Later on in the fall of that same year, my family took a trip out East to visit our distant relatives. We stayed in upstate New Jersey for a couple of weeks, and it was there that I first discovered the…
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