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.

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