One summer day my father sent me to buy wire for our farm. At 16, I liked【76】better than driving our truck,【77】this time I was not happy. My father had told me I'd have to ask for credit at the store. Sixteen is a【78】age, when a young man wants respect, not charity. It was 1976, and the ugly【79】of racial discrimination was【80】a fact of life. I'd seen my friends ask for credit and then stand, head down, while the store owner【81】whether they were 'good for it.' I knew black youths just like me who were【82】like thieves by the store clerk each time they went into a grocery. My family was【83】. We paid our debts. But before harvest, cash was short. Would the store owner【84】us?. At Davis's store, Buck Davis stood behind the cash desk, talking to a farmer. I nodded【85】I passed him on my way to the hardware shelves. When I brought my purchases to the cash desk, I said carefully, 'I need to put this on credit.' (76)