When I turned sixteen I was living with some friends of my father's in Central Oregon. She was a great lady with two neat kids I really liked. Her husband, on the other hand, was a psycho. At one point not long after my birthday I decided that it might be much better if I went elsewhere. Fast.
One of the reasons I left so abruptly is that they decided, in their infinite wisdom, that I shouldn't have contact with my stepmom, who'd left my dad a few years later and subsequently discovered she was a lesbian. I had no problem with this, and, as it turned out, we had managed to connect quite well during a visit I managed to wrangle before they told her that maybe I'd be better off if she stayed away from me. Since going to see her was one of my primary reasons for heading down there in the first place, I thought this was a little screwed up.
The other reason was I'd done something to piss the guy off and wasn't really looking forward to getting beat up again. This fellow had SERIOUS anger management issues.
So I hitchhiked to California with some goofy idea of looking up another old friend of my dad's-a former hippie for whom I had fond memories.
So here I am, walking down I-5 at just after dawn the next day and a black guy pulled over and picked me up. As I didn't really know where I was going other than AWAY from them, and in a direction they wouldn't expect (South instead of back North where I SHOULD have headed) I told him I was headed for L.A.
As it turned out, that's where he was heading. He was planning on visiting his family. So we traveled together, managed to party our way down the I-5 corridor, and eventually ended up in Pasadena.
I stayed with them for about a week while they helped me track down that old friend of my dad's, helping out with yard work and getting a feel for the city. To pay for my bus ticket to San Jose, which is where she was, I helped his father trim some palm trees (an activity I do NOT recommend, since those things are very tricky to work with) and then said my goodbyes.
One of the things his sister said to me as I was preparing to leave has stuck with me all these years. She said to me "most white guys would've been telling us how they'd had SO many black friends and trying to impress us with a bunch of bullshit. You never did that."
All I could think to say was "But I haven't. But the one thing I was raised to believe was that people were people no matter where their ancestors came from." And it was the truth. My father's stepdad had been a racist, and my Dad had rejected everything the old man had taught him. And he'd given me something very important without me even realizing it. A respect for people AS people. Humanity.
They were really nice folks and, though I never saw or heard from any of them again, I appreciate how they opened up their home to a strange white boy whose only real home at that point was the road itself.
edited to add this link to another thread about my wandering days
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=364x2781402#2787008