It's been years since it's happened, but I never apologized. So here it goes: I'm sorry to have treated you like a black man. I didn't grow up around blacks, so I assumed all of you did the soul handshake: a grip of the palms followed by the clasping of fingers and ending with a gentle knuckle rapping. When I met you for the first time, I tried doing that. Levity turned to wariness as I attempted to go through the soul-shake motions, only to see your hand remain frozen in place. Our mutual friend, meanwhile, shot me an evil glance. "He didn't grow up in the 'hood, pendejo!" he yelled after you left. I'm sure we could've had a great friendship if I weren't a latent bigot. If it makes you feel any better, I don't shake people's hands anymore—just to be safe.
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