The Klan strung my pa up right before my eyes.
My mother’s fingers dug into the back of my neck, so I couldn’t run, or look away.
“Remember,” she said, her voice breakin’, “all your pa wanted was to be treated like a decent man.”
The two other sounds I remember from that day: the final rattle from my father’s throat, and the laughter from the Rednecks as they rode off.
I never called a white man “Boss” or “Cap’n” my whole life, and I’ve been beaten more times than I can count because of it.
They’ll have to lynch me too before I’ll dishonour my pa’s memory.
Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.