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 in kindergarten when I first encountered black people. My all-white class was on a field trip at an outdoor event and we were placed next to a group of them. I remember being quite taken aback at their boisterous and downright obnoxious behavior. They were running around laughing, yelling, and screaming while the teachers tried to coral them into some sort of orderly asemblance. I knew immediately that those children were different from myself and my classmates and I knew from that moment on that I did not want to be around them.

A few years had passed and I was in fifth grade at another all-white school when my class was introduced to a new student: a black boy named David. He was a nice enough kid but I quickly noticed how difficult it was for David to keep up with the rest of us when it came to our assignments. I felt bad for David, and wondered how he had ended up in my class when it was painfully obvious he just couldn’t hack it.

I didn’t have too many more interactions with blacks until I was 23 and joined the Navy. Their behavior was identical to the black children I saw back in kindergarten. The only difference was that they were much larger and older. I felt like I was surrounded by overgrown, misbehaving grade schoolers. I was dumbfounded as to how we could ever entrust people like them to protect America not to mention to be in charge of weapons of any kind. Had I known how many blacks I would be working with, and how they would behave, I never would have enlisted.

Several years later I was in traffic court waiting to be called before the judge when I noticed a large black man pacing up and down the hallway talking on his cell phone. As he did this, he had his hand inside his unzipped pants, clearly fondling himself for all of us, including children, to see. He seemed completely oblivious as to where he was, and why his behavior was inappropriate. Less than a year later I was driving through my neighborhood and saw another black man standing on the sidewalk, talking on his cell phone, and doing the exact same thing.

No matter where I was or what I was doing, the pattern of black misbehavior always reared its head. For a while, I played basketball at my local public gym, but gave it up once blacks started frequenting it more and more. They were always looking for an excuse to fight, and considered any missed shot or rebound to be an opening for just that. For them, basketball was not a game to be casually enjoyed. The riots in Los Angeles after the Rodney King trial was another wakeup call.

My search for answers eventually brought me to American Renaissance, Colin Flaherty, Tommy Sotomayor, etc. The rest, as they say, is history.

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.