A few weeks ago, we asked Race/Related readers to share their stories about the first time they encountered racism or a racist belief. We were overwhelmed by the responses, and would like to share some of them with you.

The story below comes to us from Karl Bronn, 69, a white retiree who lives in Illinois. Mr. Bronn said he subscribed to Race/Related because “the demons of racism, even if not overt, continue to plague me,” and because “as a society, although immensely difficult, it is critical to face the roots of racism honestly and put policies and reforms in place to ameliorate or eliminate it.”

His story, which is about hearing a hateful racial epithet, has been lightly edited for clarity and length.

I am a white, 69-year-old man. I grew up on the “white side” of town in a medium-sized city in Illinois. My parents were divorced when I was in third grade. To survive on my mother’s meager income as a teacher, we moved into a duplex owned by my grandparents.

My grandfather was somewhat prominent in the community. He was very active in the Shriners. He visited people in the hospital when they were sick. He seemed to be a person of faith. But, I have never forgotten this particular memory of him.

I was lying on the floor in the family room one late afternoon. My grandfather was watching the evening news. The report was on the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. I don’t remember what it was about exactly, but I do remember my grandfather’s expletive-laced racial slur.

It was emphatic and clearly heartfelt. I had never heard my grandfather say anything like that before. I had never even met a black person at that point in my life, but if my grandfather hated them, I thought it must be O.K. for me to dislike them as well. And as my grandfather claimed to be a person of faith, I assumed all black people must be godless.

Unfortunately, I grew up in a town and society where racism was accepted and encouraged, and for no reason other than it was the way things were. I’m sorry to say that I have struggled with this my entire life and continue to struggle with it.

I know I am not overtly racist, but I’m certain that deep down in my soul, these tendencies still reside. I am ashamed of that, but don’t know how to resolve it at this point in my life. I have no black friends. I don’t have an opportunity to talk with them. I know it is not their problem. The problem resides in me, but overcoming it continues to be a burden. I think of it nearly every day when I see a person of color.

What unbelievable damage a comment can have on an impressionable mind.

— Karl Bronn

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Lauretta Charlton is an editor on the National Desk and the editor of the Race/Related newsletter. She was previously a news editor at The New Yorker and a music columnist at New York magazine. @laurettaland

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