Our Reckoning with Racism

I was 15 when I would go to my Boy Scout troop meeting every Monday night. I lived on the poorer side of town, which was a short 10-minute drive away. It was something of a ritual — get home from school, make or eat dinner (picking up a $5 pizza from Little Caesars was the common fallback since we never seemed to have enough time), cram some last minute prep work for the meeting that night, put my uniform on, and then rush out the door to…