The back of the bus

In 1952, when I was 9 years old, living in a small community in Georgia, I broke my arm. I had to ride the bus into Atlanta to see the orthopedic surgeon (by myself) for care. 

This one day, while on the bus, I was sitting on an aisle seat when a soldier came onto the bus. He was in uniform. He was on crutches. He dropped his coins into the coin collector thing and the bus took off. He struggled to reach the back of the bus where the ‘colored’ sat. 

My dad had always taught us to be kind to those who were injured, and especially those in uniform. I stood up and offered him my seat.  The elderly lady who was sitting next to me grabbed my arm, pulled me back into my seat, and said “No nigger is going to sit by me!”