Unfiltered Story #47706

Unfiltered | February 14, 2016

(I am six years old, and I have no concept of racism yet (I’m white), and I easily forget parts of things I’m told. I’m outside playing and looking mischeviously at a puddle with some moss in it when my mother sees me.)

Mom: Don’t touch that puddle!

Me: Aw… why?

Mom: There could be chiggers in the moss.

Me: What are those?

Mom: Little… things you can’t see, but they make you itchy.

Me: Oh, okay.

(Later, my best friend and her sister come over – they’re half African-American, half Hispanic, and being around the same age as me, they head straight for the puddle.)

Me: No! Wait! You can’t!

Best friend: Why not?

Me: *trying to remember* Uh… my mom said there were invisible itchy things in there called n******.

Best friend: Oh really? But if we can’t see them they could be here now!

Me: Let’s run!

(We run around screaming, which naturally attracts my mother’s attention.)

Mom: What are you all screaming about?

Me: Can’t talk now mom! I’m running away from the n******!

(My mother had a talk with me shortly thereafter. )