Well, all I can say, is Hip Hip Hoorah, to this article. Effing brilliant.

In 1960, my family uprooted us kids from a comfortable life in Brooklyn and drove us 40 miles east to replant us in Suffolk County. Sounds like a short train ride, but in 1960, it was epic. I was seven, and went from a stiff restrictive Catholic school environment to a mixed-race school where I met my first black person - a boy named Daryl.

What happened? Traumatizing. We talked. We played. We told silly jokes that seemed funny to a seven-year-old. We laughed - a lot. Patted each others back. Learned.

It was the best possible lesson in race relations. Be a kid, befriend a kid, forget color altogether.

Not everyone grows up thinking the same things about race. We're all different.

That's why conversations are vital. They bridge the gap. Share truths. Dispel lies. Heal old wounds.

Excellent article, Steve.