“Say it again!” I yelled, staring Billy T. down. Though there was a hot, prickly itching behind my eyes, they stayed dry. He chanted in a taunting schoolyard singsong. “N**ger, N**ger, N****ggger.” I was 11 years old in Boulder, Colorado, the only Black kid in the schoolyard. All the kids gathered around to watch me cry. Again. *** As a little girl, I didn’t know I was Black. Not until I was 9 or 10 did I understand how my color set me apart. I was adopted at the age of 8 by a white woman and a