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I have never in my life felt compelled at all to use the "N" word, much as I never use the "C" word.

When I was about seven, I had this interaction with my dad, which I included in his eulogy when he passed on:

I had a memorable encounter with my dad. It speaks volumes to me about my father, but at the time, was most puzzling because of its nature. When we lived in Virginia, I was about 7 years old, and had walked a couple of miles to a candy store that was in a part of our town that was much poorer, and predominately black. When I came home, my dad asked me where I had been, and I said, “Oh, I just went over to N*****rtown to get some candy…”

In a very swift motion, my dad grabbed me, one big adult hand around each skinny seven-year-old bicep, and drew me towards him so that my nose was probably less than a foot away from his nose. The term today for this was “In my face”. This was very close, and VERY unusual. He never dealt with us like this. I will never forget the look on his face, it wasn’t anger, and I didn’t know what it was. And the tone of his voice when he spoke was a tone I had never heard before. There was something else, not anger, but something. I didn’t know what it was at the time. My father looked at me, directly in the eyes, with his eyes the unwavering steely blue that they were, with this very foreign, strange and unusual look in them, a sharpness or brightness that was totally unrecognizable to me at that age. He gave me one shake, not a hard one, a gentle one, and said to me in that odd voice:

“Don’t ever think that you are better than someone else just because you were born with a different color skin.” He released me, stood up to regard me for an instant then walked away without another word. I remember just standing there totally confused about this strange encounter. I had never seen him look at me that way or speak to me that way. I remember it as clearly as if it happened this morning.

Now that I am older, I think of that encounter and I know with certainty what the look he had in his eyes was. I know what the odd tone of his voice was. It was passion. My dad had passion, and never, ever showed it to us as kids. But just that once, when I was a child, a door had cracked open (I am sure quite by accident) and I had seen the light that escaped. Before I could go and look inside, the door had snapped shut and sealed tight. I never got a chance to see into the room sealed by that door until many years later. By then, I was no longer surprised by what I saw. I had made the transition from viewing my father as a parent to viewing him as a person.

In my life, I have viewed both the "N" word and the "C" word in much the same way. They are not used to convey any message apart from hate and spite. They are used only to intentionally cause pain. So I have never had any use for those terms, or for people who use them.

The other thing I remember about that was when he stood up, just how tall he was compared to me. I remember looking up at him, and him down at me, just for that second before he turned and walked away.

He was so big, and made me feel so small. I had never noticed before, that I remember, how aware I was that an adult was so much bigger than me. Odd.

I absolutely love your post and it was written so well, your dad would be very proud. I was raised the same way. My mother would sit preschool me next to her on the piano and play slave spirituals and explain them to me and cry. When one of my brother’s little friends said the n word in our yard, my mother dealt with him very harshly (“these words will not be spoken on our property” kind of thing). My parents admired many, many African Americans, in sports and music, and introduced me to their talents, or them personally, with reverence. I truly didn’t see race as a child at all. Gd bless my parents for that.

Sad that this isn’t the world I thought it was.