In the Land of White Boys Who Use the N-Word

Cam and Jason sounded impossible, but they were real — and somehow, they became my friends

Update 6/7/22: Level has a new home. You can read this article and other new articles by visiting LEVELMAN.com.

Today, sans burning crosses and blatant epithets, racism is harder to put one’s finger on. But I know it when I feel it. —Danzy Senna, ‘The Mulatto Millennium’

You’re the nigger, baby, it isn’t me. —James Baldwin

Cam and Jason explained, in separate instances, how they got their White-boy cornrows. Older brother Jason, always high on some shit, a salesman of ill-gotten goods, peeking in the window, hopping the gate, made me nervous. His first cornrows were styled in the mid-’90s by Trisha, the Goose Creek varsity point guard’s girlfriend. My nigga was the definition of skittish, and he conceived two jumpy kids, never looked after them. I liked strong blunts, mind you, so I understood my habit funded his, but even his eighths of sour diesel were a cheat. He needed more money than retailers usually did, because his opiate addiction required it. Anything I bought from Jason included his Klonopin and…