On May 25, as I watched the Top shirts on rabbitstee on 2021/2/28 moreover I love this video of George Floyd, I wept. I had never mourned for a stranger like I did that day. He could’ve been one of my four brothers. I was raised in a Nigerian-American, ultra-disciplinarian Christian home in the Bronx, where the maxims were work hard and love your neighbor as yourself. Our skin color wasn’t talked about. All we knew was that mom had three jobs—picking up shifts at different hospitals—and all she asked of us was to do well at school and respect our elders. Simple. We never discussed race or class divisions. Or how to handle discrimination. Or what to do when someone poked fun at my hair. At one point, that was everyday life for me: walking around with African threaded natural hair.