By: Daniel K. Forkkio I was named after my grandfather on my mother’s side, but I didn’t meet him until I was 5 or 6, and only a handful of times after. My parents met in the military. My mother, white, from Kingston, Tennessee. My father, black, from D.C. via Kumasi, Ghana. They were forced to elope because of my white grandfather’s racist objections — and got married by themselves, in D.C. When I finally met him, I immediately felt that icy cold feeling of exclusion. I was not welcome. Narrative change isn’t about feeling bad. We live in a […]
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