The first time someone said to me, “Yeah, you can’t fuck your way out of racism,” I was stopped cold. It felt like a slap, a truth so sharp I didn’t quite know what to do with it. For three months, it simmered in the back of my mind until it finally hit me: no amount of closeness to Black people, no...

It often starts with a story.

Your child walks through the door with a certain look on their face. Maybe they’re quiet. Maybe they’re mad. Maybe they blurt it out while grabbing a snack or kicking off their shoes:

“The security guard followed me around the whole store.”
“This white kid touched m

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