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.

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.