Anyone else?

The final bell has sounded, but still my door opens and a student comes in. Standard Operating Procedure. The only question is, "Who?"

I prepare my standard reminder, "This is not your locker," when I see who it is, but his expression tells me I've guessed wrong at his mission, at least for today.

"Ms. P.," he confesses--you'd think I'd be an honorary Catholic by now; do they still sell indulgences?--"I'm little bit racist," gesturing to indicate the smallest forgivable amount.

"Why do you say that?" I'm at expert at neutral and also at speaking slowly enough to be easily understood.

"I dance with this black girl one time on Saturday. . ." he begins, emphasizing one, and goes on to to tell me the story of a girl who seems to have decided a single song at the Winter Formal means more interest than he has. (We've already determined that what teenagers do at a dance these days is not dancing. )

"So you don't like this girl?"

"No," he replies, launching into another imitation, complete with voices, of a sixteen-year-old girl on the prowl.

"And this girl is black?" I interrupt, play-by-play not being necessary.

"Yes. . ." and common sense is returning. What's gotten to him? Something interesting, sociologically. Or I'm completely misinterpreting and about to excuse a bigot.

"I think you just don't like this girl, Rafa. It's not a black thing."

"I am not racist!" he says, and his smile is one of relief as he thanks me, bids me good bye, see you tomorrow.

Anyone else have a non-existent problem to solve?