I grew up with six siblings in Los Alamos, NM, where Anglos, Hispanics (we knew them as Spanish, then) and Pueblo people were in a more-or-less even plurality. There were a few black families in town. A couple of the black men were my father’s co-workers; one black woman was my 7th grade math teacher, and another of the black men was in The Knights of Columbus with my father. One of the boys, whom I had known since 5th grade, in time became my middle sister’s boyfriend, and father to my nephew. I adopted my mixed-race nephew as my son. In honors history in high school and at KU I learned in depth about the “peculiar institution.” I still see the effects of this institution bleeding through to the present in how my son deals with the world, and how the world deals with him.