But we made weekly Saturday morning drives through neighborhoods, on interstates, in malls, behind slow tractors pulling loads of hay on little narrow winding country roads . . . sometimes not talking, just bobbing our heads. Once, driving aimlessly in the city, I turned onto an empty dead-end street of keep-out buildings with boarded windows. I was performing a three-point U-turn when three black dudes my age turned the corner. Two were Will Smith–ish brown, about my height; the third taller, more Derek Jeter–ish. Under one arm he held a basketball. Dad sat up straighter, and took a deep breath. I put the car into reverse again, again in drive, reverse again, then drive. My U-turn added three or four more points. It was embarrassing. And the black dudes were laughing.
