This is part of our continuing series of accounts by readers of how they shed the illusions of liberalism and became race realists.

I was born in Wichita, Kansas, in 1958, and have always known blacks were different from whites: louder and more animated. Still, I did not think much about this until I went to junior high school in 1970. That was the year forced busing began in Wichita. Blacks beat whites for no reason, and shook them down for pocket change. It was shocking to us. The few blacks who had been with us in earlier grades were not that way for the first month or two of school, but soon started acting like their 8th and 9th grade brethren.

My increasing dislike for blacks continued through high school. Blacks generally kept their distance in high school, but woe to the white who walked the halls by himself as the end of the school year approached. Blacks did not like taking final examinations. As exam days approached, they would look for a solitary white and beat him up. They would be kicked out of school and not take final exams, but would be passed on to the next grade.

I attended undergraduate school at Kansas State University. In junior high and high school the percentage of blacks has been 15 to 20 percent, but now it was two to four percent. This meant no more black-on-white violence, and I loved it. So did other whites from high schools with many blacks. Still, there were a few negative experiences. Once, at a lecture, a black man walked across most of a row purposely bumping into whites and not excusing himself. When he came to a black student he excused himself.

If you have a story about how you became racially aware, we’d like to hear it. If it is well written and compelling, we will publish it. Use a pen name, stay under 1,200 words, and send it to us here.