Brief story about my dad and black people. My dad was born in 1923 in Baltimore. He grew up during the depression. By the time I was born, he was totally okay with black people. Probably had something to do with his bomber group being escorted by the Tuskeegee Airmen numerous times during WWII.
In our household, The N word was pretty much prohibited, at least for the children. We were taught that colored people was the polite term to use.
Around 1980 when my dad was an aircraft mechanic for United Airlines at SFO nearing retirement, he got to experience having a black boss for the first time in his life. He told me on day one he told the new boss "I can call you Afro American, I can call you Colored, but I can't bring myself to call you black because where I grew up the word black was followed by another word that began with a B." He was, of course referring to Black Bastard, a common term I heard from others in the 50s.
The new boss said he understood and they got along great for the several years before my dad retired.
So everybody can have a different viewpoint on these things and it all has to do with when and where you grew up and how those around you spoke. And it's all just words, something too many people get wound up about in my opinion.
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