(I wrote this story a few years ago after talking with a friend about prejudice. It is not really me nor is the story true although I suppose it could be) Summertime, 1938. I was only a young lad then, but my heart was exploding with joy! The brownstones in the Bronx were my home. And the arena of my life was within the four blocks surrounding our apartment. My older brother woke me up early one morning and told me that Mom and Dad were planning to take us on a trip. It would be my first one and I was so excited I was shaking. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to drive in the car and go to a new and exciting place. Two days later the city was far behind us. All we could see besides the narrow road was green. Big trees and fields of everything you could find in a bowl of vegetable soup! My father had put some sandwiches close to the engine in tin foil so that they would be hot to eat in a few hours when the sun started to go down. The first time he did this my brother and I just looked at each other and grinned; we could not believe what he did, but the food was hot and delicious. On the fourth day of our serendipity we found ourselves in a small southern city. My dad pulled into a gas station and asked the owner to please fill up the tank. The man replied, “Boy, do you know where you are? We don’t sell to coloreds here, now get your black ass out of here while you can”. I started to cry, what was this man telling my father, nobody ever talked like that at home. Even my brother was scared. I started to say something, and my father told me sharply, just be still. It was a voice I never recognized but I paid attention. Maybe thirty or so minutes later we were in a different section of the city and all we saw were people like us. My father got the car filled up and we started on the way home, where my real summer vacation started.