Before we left Detroit, Michigan for our vacation, Dad talked to my four siblings and I about racism and segregation. He explained how they were very much alive from the 1890s through the 1960s. All we wanted was a safe and enjoyable ride to Mississippi. My brother Nolan was the oldest and understood what was being said that day, but he stayed quiet. When Dad stopped at a small ice-cream shop in the South to buy us a cone, we were excited. But we never got it. He changed his mind, saying we were almost at the farm and needed to eat a proper meal before having a treat. Eventually, Nolan told us the real reason. A pickup truck had been following us, with several men riding in the back, holding rifles. Dad noticed it was getting dark and knew we needed to get back on the road. We were disappointed, but we said nothing. The truck followed us for a while, then finally turned off and went another way. My dad lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and kept driving, whispering to Mom how relieved he was.
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