I was about 9 or 10 years old when my father taught me the dangers of insidious racism. We were travelling on one of the many flights we took between the USA and South Africa. I cannot recall the precise date, but it was around 1980 and apartheid was still in full swing. The exact details of the incident are hazy, but I recall that there was a black man at the airport and he had said something rude or done something wrong - I can't remember what but he had indeed done something. A white man was telling him off, and I remember that I briefly joined in, as of course, he had done something (I can't remember what).