Manny Potter was the child I remember best. His skin was olive, his hair shiny and thick, silky and straight, his eyes black as coals. He was handsome, the darling of the pale-skinned boys partly because he had failed second grade and was older than the rest of us, and partly because he sat loosely in his chair, offered little respect or deference to the teachers, and drew excellent pictures of naked women in his notebook during class. In his art he displayed a sophisticated sense of perspective, mass, and proportion. His family was as brown as he. I remember that he had a number of sisters, maybe a younger brother. My mother early on, in second grade, warned me to have nothing to do with him. When I asked why, she said without hesitation that he was too brown. I asked whether he was a nigger and she said no. I asked what was he, and she said maybe he was a Mexican or maybe he was Indian or maybe some of both. But whatever he was, I should keep my distance from him.
What do You think about How I Shed My Skin (2016)?