The Black Ball - Ralph Ellison
The Black Ball By Ralph Ellison I had rushed through the early part of the day mopping the lobby, placing fresh sand in the tall green jars, sweeping and dusting the halls, and emptying the trash to be burned later on in the day into the incinerator. And I had stopped only once to chase out after a can of milk for Mrs Johnson, who had a new baby and was always nice to my boy. I had started at six o’clock, and around eight I ran out to the quarters where we lived over the garage to dress the boy and give him his fruit and cereal. He was very thoughtful sitting there in his high chair and paused several times with his spoon midway to his mouth to watch me as I chewed my toast. `What’s the matter son?` `Daddy, am I black?` `Of course not, you’re brown. You know you’re not black.` `Well yesterday Jackie said I was so black.` `He was just kidding. You mustn’t let them kid you, son.` `Brown’s much nicer than white isn’t it Daddy?` He was four, a lit...