Yet I found my own results both surprising and troubling. I was raised in Mississippi, in a family and a community that identified as black, and I have the stories and the experiences to go with it. One of my great-great-grandfathers was killed by a gang of white Prohibition patrollers. My mother helped to integrate the local elementary school in the 1960s. My father was run out of segregated Pass Christian’s beaches and the local park. I was the only black girl at my private high school in Pass Christian, the target of my classmates’ backward ideas about race. Despite my parents’ sense of
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