I started questioning the mainstream narrative about race in 1973, while attending a San Francisco Giants game at Candlestick Park with my Little League buddies. After a few innings, we all went to the bathroom and got cornered by a group of black boys in a stairwell. They singled me out, threatened me, and then stole my belt. Why my belt? Because it was cool! Black leather with silver eyelets up and down it, very fashionable at the time. I remember the complete humiliation I felt as one of the boys pulled my shirt up, unbuckled my belt with his filthy hands and slid it out of my waistband. My buddies ran off crying as I flagged down a security guard.