Fake news? Not in the neighborhood I grew up in. I was four years old when my Grandmother jerked me off a water fountain at Woolworth's that had "Black" engraved on it and told me blacks had cooties. When I looked around, I saw young blacks who were spit and polished clean and dressed for being downtown. It hurt my arm, and I just kept quiet and felt sorry for the children she seemed to be angry at. I loved grandma, but I also was taught at church that "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world." That was 1950. All public schools were either black or white, no exceptions for my entire 12 years of school. I never saw black kids at my school ever. I still felt they had been mistreated by family members I loved, but kept it to myself to prevent getting jerked off another water fountain. When I grew up and made it known that blacks had their rights, I was disinherited. That didn't matter to me. But live and let live became my motto, though that didn't always ring well in my family that I loved anyways.
