race talk is oxygen to black folks—breathed into our jokes, our social norms, our storytelling at family gatherings. I’d tell them how we identify strangers by race before other physical descriptions. If I was close to them, I’d add that whiteness, especially, occupies a special, complicated place in our dialogue. Black folks tease it in its absence, talk about it behind its back. I’d tell them that, no, teenage me was not afraid to discuss race. I’d ask if these teachers were projecting their own fears onto me. If they were, what were they afraid of? Messing up? Saying the wrong things?
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