Ramster...that was brilliant and thank you!
I remember a man showing up at our front door when I was young. He had my little brother gripped in one hand and my little brother's bicycle gripped in the other. He informed my father that said litle brother had ridden his bicycle out in front of his car. My father thanked the man, shook his hand...and what he did to my little brother doesn't bear thinking about. I think about that often with parents today.
Lest anyone think we are all pining for the "good old days," I'm going to tell a story with a touch of sadness. My mother said when I turned 14 I would be old enough to babysit. We lived in an apartment at that time, as my father was doing his first tour in Viet Nam. I was sitting on the back stoop talking to a woman and watching her kids play. She asked me if I knew anyone that babysat. I eagerly said "I do!" and told her that my mother had said I could at 14. She looked at my so sadly and said "you'd better ask your mother if you can baby sit for me." Well, of course I had to ask my mother. (I had to ask my mother for permission before I did anything whatsoever.) I didn't quite understand her sad expression, though. So...I asked my mother. She took a deep breath and said "is that the lady that's married to the colored man?" I nodded. My mother took another deep breath. (Yes, I was totally clueless about the sad face and the deep breathing. Word hadn't quite reached my young brain on the state of the world.) She asked "do you want to baby sit for them?" I couldn't say yes fast enough. My first baby sitting gig was for two wonderful children with skin a different color than mine. I didn't realize that was a big deal for a long time.
So much of my childhood was infinitely better than things are today. However, I don't want anyone to ever forget there was a time when a very, very nice woman (my mother) knew of no other way to refer to a loving husband and father than "the colored man."