When I was but a wee lad (okay, closer to legal adulthood than lad), I went to a high school that happened to be “in the hood”. Literally, and in both senses.
Minneapolis North was my assigned high school by virtue of proximity (slightly closer than the other option, Minneapolis Patrick Henry) and, because of the post-60s civil rights movements of the time, I was going to get bused in even if I lived a couple blocks further north and would have normally be assigned to Henry by virtue of the color of my skin and the word “desegregation”.
Not that I minded. Unlike a number of my Caucasian peers at the time, I was raised to largely be colorblind and it made no difference to me who I schooled with when it came to the color of their skin. It always seemed like an absurd fetish to me to worry about such things.
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