I stood at my grandma’s front window. A woman with an open umbrella walked past on the narrow street in front of the house. “There’s a lady with an umbrella walking down the street”, I called to my grandma.
Grandma came to look. Grandma told me two things. “That’s a parasol, not an umbrella”. Then she added, “You don’t call a ‘negra’ a lady. She’s probably a nice person but you don’t ever call a ‘negra’ a lady”.
Another memory from growing up white in Tuscaloosa
Waiting For Charlemagne 