The young female protagonist in my WIP struggles with the impending divorce of her mother and father. She knows her father is extremely predjudiced against what were called “coloreds” in 1967, but he’s her Daddy and she loves him for all of the good things about him. Now that she’s going to an integrated school and realizing for herself that Negros are just people with different color skin, she’s conflicted by love for her racist father and calling him out for his predjudice.
I noticed for the first time the Corvair was pink. Daddy hated pink. He never liked us girls wearing pink, saying only weak girls wore pink.
We piled inside the car, Wren in the front—as usual. Before long we were headed up Euclid Avenue.
“So Daddy, why did you get a pink car?” I asked.
“It’s not pink,” he said. “It’s mauve.”
“Mauve,” said Wren, as if tasting the word for the first time.
“Isn’t mauve a shade of pink?” I asked.
“No. It’s mauve. More like a beige.”
“I see. Pink and beige makes mauve.” I turned to Wren. “Mr. Webb says everyone’s colored. From now on I’m going to say I’m mauve colored.”
“No, you’re white,” said Daddy. “Don’t you forget it.”
Candy broke the tension with her sweet voice. “Where are we going Daddy?”
“Somewhere special,” he said. “I have a girlfriend now. Her name’s Marnie.”
I knew Daddy would never buy a pink car.