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WHAT BRISTLES MY BEARD: RACISM



I am thankful that my father is a racist.


I took my son to his first London Knights game at 6 years old. It was an exciting time for him as he had never seen a live hockey game up to that point. At the time, I had not yet been awarded custody of him, so visits with him were minimal; 4 days a month. This was the first time I had done something with him of this nature and I was beaming with pride.



Man with Bristly Beard

As we were in the men’s washroom of the JLC, my son, at the urinal, turns to me and says “look dad, black kids!” motioning to a young father with his 2 children. In absolute shock, and in a stunned moment of panic, I did my best to profusely apologize to the father and children. In my son’s defense, he had very little exposure to ethnic diversity.