Little boy, white

“Nigger” . The word sprang from his lips with velocity, and assurance. This was not the first time he said it, not with that confidence. Me in the store, young black and tired. A white child in the store with his mother, barely beyond babyhood. Who taught him these words? “Nigger”, he calls out again repeating it. His mother red and embarrassed, trying not see, me, but I- I am there. A black ghost perhaps? The mother says “ we don’t use that word. Where did you learn that?”. But ahhh see he is a child and you are a mother, children are the reflections of their environment, and his world is you. White woman are you ashamed to be outed by your child? Children are truth tellers, and you my dear, have been found out. Hate breeds hatred, and this boy saps it up. I am here, I exist, and this child calls me the name his ancestors have chosen. He has called me as they see me. I slip away, words ringing in my ears, too tired to be furious. This is a reminder that I will never be free. After all old habits die hard for them apparently.   

Note: This happened in a Walmart a few months ago, it took me awhile to finally put into words how I felt.