#5 The Difference In People

photography of woman in front of man in red polo shirt
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When I was about 6 years old my dad decided it was time for us to sell the brand new house he and my mom had built, which my mom loved, and move to a different neighborhood.  This is the first time I heard my dad talk about “black people”.   I mean, I knew there were people in the housing development who I recognized as different from myself, but I was not aware that this was a bad thing, but apparently it was.  He would go on and on, saying we had to sell our house now, while we still could.  Up to this point I had always seen my dad as a good guy who liked everyone, so I was shocked to find out there were people he did not like.  This was my first introduction to his horrible racial beliefs.  

My mom was extremely upset because she loved the house, and being 100% Portuguese the dynamics of the neighborhood did not bother her.  But this was back in the era when most women were still housewives, the husbands brought home the income and made the major decisions in the households.  So the house was sold.

He did purchase an older home in a very nice, established neighborhood which I really liked.  I made my first friends there, Cindy and Terry who lived across the street, but to this day my mom will say she did not like leaving her brand new home to move into this older one.  She hated it.  I believe this was the beginning of the nightmare.

 

 

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