I grew up in an apartment complex dominated by blacks from 1st to 4th grade. Being a white kid, I played a lot of video games, grew up in church with a large multi cultured group, etc. racism just didn't exist in my mind yet, I didn't know what it was. I used to go to this park that was a 2 minute walk from my parents apartment (divorced twice basically)

There I would meet up with a bunch of black kids and wes play "games". At first I didn't like the games because they were too aggressive, I didn't realize what they were actually doing. We'd all get in a large circle and they would take turns fighting me, or trying to beat me up. I was just a wimpy 3rd grader, so I'd get my ass whooped, but I just thought it was a game because I would also whoop some ass, but the majority of the time I got my ass whooped by 7th graders, etc.

Well one day I was at the park by myself and I noticed "jay" was at the top of the hill playing with his dragon ball Z Burger King happy meal toys. When he wasn't looking I stole half of his collection and fucking tailed it home before he could notice. I put them in my drawer and went back outside to the park. When I got back, Jay and his brother were both standing there waiting for me. They knew it was me, I knew it was me, but I still denied I took them.

So jay goes home, but his brother stays. After a while jays brother starts coming up to me and says "man I know you stole my brothers toys, imma beat yo ass, etc". So naturally jays brother is black and chumps out, and starts chasing me with this broken off tree branch, swinging at me, etc. I'm blessed by the lord as he gave me better speed than the average black. Being the emotionally deprived psychopath child I am, I turn this into a game, and I'm running around the park laughing, not realizing this kid is actually trying to kill me. Well jays brother finally catches up and wacks me in the back of the head with the tree branch. I see stars for a few seconds, and get back up fumbling a little. Jays brother is talking your normal jive after winning the "fight". But before Jays brother could finish, I pick up a rock from the ground not realizing what I'm about to do, and I bash his fucking head in. Blood, lots of it, and Jays brother is now convulsing on the ground gasping for air.

So being the psychopath child I was, I kicked him in the head one time for good measure and then ran home.

To this day I don't know if I accidentally killed some 7th grade nigger who tried to kill me, but I have a feeling his father was watching through the window or some shit the whole time.

I've grown a lot since that incident, and haven't really had much of a "fight" since. I don't know if any of this special training I've had against fighting hostile poor black children as a child has had a positive impact on me, but I certainly have developed a fetish for curb stomping some noggers.