It was the thought I had on my third heartbeat. Disbelief, shock, and then thinking about telling him about another pointless cruelty of the world. Another thing to fear. Another thing to mourn. We’re white, and in the fourth heartbeat, I remembered this clip I saw of a fellow nerd, a young black man, seeing the Black Panther poster for the first time.
It’s always stuck with me as my shorthand for the privilege and the counter-argument to silly comic books not mattering. They saved my life when I was a very sad and hurting child. They gave me fantasies to have, places to escape to, and heroes to aspire to in my moments of need.
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