Dear Mr. Williams damn right I’m mad! Where are my forty acres and a mule? Were are my shares of cotton, tobacco and sugar futures so I can get rich on Wall Street. I’m tired of paying this white landlord rent! Actually, I don’t own any slaves. Nor did my previous three generations. After that, I have no idea.

Also, it scares me to see you are majoring in education. Are you going to teach others to learn from the past or how to do a lot of finger-pointing. I’m glad I have no children.

If someone wrongs me so happens to belong to a specific group, I blame the individual, not the group. That being said, what in the hell is the point of your letter? Am I guilty for living in Southern Illinois?

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By the way, I’m mostly white and part Native-American, but I promise I won’t bring up that wronged Native American stuff. It’s kind of a done deal. So let’s get together sometime and I can get drunk on whiskey and maybe take your scalp? Or we can play buffalo soldier and you can blow my head off.