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Reflection2 That's like the boyfriends my brother's first wife had. I didn't know she had a black boyfriend living under our roof (they had the upstairs apartment) until the day one of his friends came over and started yelling for him. Thank God one of the neighbors didn't see or hear the yelling, until I went out into the yard and asked him to leave. He said, "I'm looking for Joanne's boyfriend - there he is! Hey,man -" as the black man poked his head of the window. Thank God my father was at work.
They left soon after. I went up the back way and saw the unmade bed in the living room and pajamas on the bed. I saw red.
When my brother came in I collared him, saying firmly, "You get that guy OUT of here, TONIGHT!" I explained what went down that morning and we were lucky Dad or the neighbors didn't find out and tell him.
I never saw him again - and it wasn't like he didn't have a place to live (he did). I never told my Dad about this, either. It would have brought the house down. (My neighborhood was lily-white at the time. If he stayed any longer, SOMEONE would see him and report him as a stranger.)