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The Side Effects of Endorphins

Grew Up a Racist

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K Mark Schofer

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As my thoughts go out to Pennsylvania.
And why I worry.
And why I trust our youth.

K Mark Schofer's avatarMy Pictures Of You

In Berks County

Pennsylvania. And it is really bothering me.

Hopefully I learned from it. A famous man once said, Pennsylvania, a state with two big cities and Alabama in between.

I grew up a racist son of a bitch

Didn’t know any better.

What sticks to a young mind

What that sticks can be unstuck?

When we were little the men who picked up our trash, we were taught to fear them. They were black people coming into our alley. The putrid smell of trash lingered from the trash cans.

I felt like we were at war with a country called Puerto Rico. The parents blamed the spics for everything. Why didn’t they go back to their own country. Don’t go anywhere near the housing projects. They were not a safe place to be.

In our household the moon landing eclipsed the life and death that was Martin Luther…

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One response to “Grew Up a Racist”

  1. Mr. S. Not Avatar
    Mr. S. Not

    I had similar but different experiences in a small city on the West Coast. We had very few minorities in my school and community. Those from families of different European ancestry bore the brunt of our childhood harassment; but there were so countries represented in our neighborhoods almost everyone was “fair game” at one point or another. Luckily, I could often avoid some antagonism because I could plead neutrality since I had Swiss ancestry. We said stupid stuff that we didn’t often understand, although I’m sure that didn’t help those who were on “the receiving end”. Since then, I have had opportunities where I have been the only or one of few white persons as part of a community; however I could always return to the “safety” of the majority culture. We’ve “come a long way” but we still have a long way to go.

I would love to hear you opinion as well

Hello,

I’m Mark

His friends observe Mark seems wired a little differently. Perhaps it’s more likely that noticing little things often missed by others is a relic of a quieter, simpler time. He has a way with words, which he refuses to let be hindered by sub-par typing skills. People have great stories to tell if you sit and listen.

A belief dear to Mark is that there is certain beauty in the world. You simply have to look for it.

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