"Hey, boys, would you ever do a Black chick?" My best friend's dad.
We were sixteen, on a guys' trip at the river.
Sitting around the campfire, talking philosophy and sports and, apparently, sex.
A completely normal question. Actually, not entirely accurate. A completely edgy question. It was the edginess that was normal.
A dad talking to his son and his best friend about grown up things. Things he was trusting us to be able to handle. Things beyond our maturity level.
Two virginal teenage boys who hadn't done anyone, let alone a Black chick.
We didn't know any Black chicks. Why would we? All our friends were White, all our parents' friends were White, all our neighbors were White, all our teachers were White, almost all our classmates and teammates were White.
Our entire world was White. Our entire world view was White.
Which is why it never occurred to him or to us that this question was fast tracking a racist, sexist, misogynistic, fetishist, patriarchal perspective into the next generation.
We didn't know – or care – about any of that shit. We were just excited to engage in a playful interracial sexual fantasy offered up by an adult we respected and admired and loved.
Never once thinking that this hypothetical Black chick could be a real live human being just like us.