I was in eighth grade when I had my first confrontation that I remember well. It was with my mom. I was screaming at the dinner table at her, and I ran off. Lots of ugly scenes after that.

Then, because racists are weird, when I brought a Black dude home in my freshman year, she offered him coke and chips and behaved just fine. Not even a passive aggressive remark. It was weird. She knew he was my best friend, but it was still weird.