I should start this with a disclaimer that I’m not trying to offend anyone, I simply want to share some of my experiences. If any of my language or the way this is organized is problematic, please let me know, I want to learn from my mistakes. There are a lot of forms of racism in the U.S., but this story will mostly focus on an experience I had with an African American friend.

For a bit of context, I grew up in an extremely diverse religious community, and I was exposed and welcomed into African American culture in a way that I have come to realize is quite rare.

From Richmond to Oakland, some of my very best friends growing up were African American. Every Sunday as a child I was taught that the human race should be treated like one family, that we are like flowers in a garden and the differences are what make us beautiful.

It has always been a kind of core value I was raised with that human being should live in unity, and we should do whatever we can to try and get along. Prejudice is something that can seriously get in the way of that unity, so we should eradicate it from our hearts.

So in one sense it has been natural to avoid being overtly prejudiced, and I do think many who were raised by people of conscience naturally avoid stuff like bullying, isolating people, or using the N word. But as I’ve gotten older and the discourse on race has evolved, I’ve realized how being mixed but appearing basically white has shielded me from some problems.

Perhaps the best example is from my elementary school days. There was an African American boy named Will, who I became friends with. We played ball and hung out together, and I invited him to my birthday party, and his dad got me this really nice, expensive woodworking set.

One day, at the after school program, Will and I got into some sort of an argument. I really don’t remember the details, I think he smashed my sand castle and I got upset and started crying. I think I kicked him and he pushed me, and our parents were notified.

The parents and administrators asked us what happened and we each told our side of the story. I don’t think I was totally honest about how I acted, I may have omitted the fact that I kicked him, and overemphasized that I was pushed and my castle was ruined. My parents, and I think some of the school, may have felt that this fit into a pattern of Will being aggressive with other kids.

We were just kids being kids, but I do think, somehow, I got away with preferential treatment in that situation because I was white, and my voice was heard more. And that really bothers me, because even if he did have a history of fights (which I’m not sure if he did) I think I got away with more than I should have.

Will and I got over it and we took a very awkward picture together at the end of the 5th Grade year. His father wanted us to hang out again but my parents decided against it, so we didn’t. And that was that, we went our separate ways.

Ten years later Will contacted me via Facebook. He was a professional musician and doing great, really happy. We messaged back and forth and I was excited to try to do a hip-hop collab with him. He had grown up to be a really cool dude.

Now that I’ve reflected more on that incident from our childhood, I wish I could talk to Will about it and try to make amends. But I never will, because he’s dead.

Will Sims was murdered outside of a bar in El Sobrante in 2016. According to press reports he was killed by three white men because he was black. And that’s the point.

Once you get to real talk, most African American friends I know have a story where prejudice has seriously affected them, some in small, nagging, indirect ways, but many in a real, keep you up at night, change your life way. African American families have to have conversations with children about how to protect from violence and discrimination based on the color of their skin.

I wish we could move past racism quickly and just see everyone as human beings. I wish the wounds would heal and all the various peoples could uplift each other and help nourish each other’s capacities. I wish stereotypes of white people being callous, uncaring, inept, aloof, and hopelessly uncultured didn’t reinforce cultural divisions.

More than anything though, as I write this I wish my friend Will was still alive, or at least that I had told him how I felt, that I was sorry I reinforced prejudice that he had been dealing with his whole life. Alas, I won’t get to do that in this world.

I failed him, and the world failed him.