When my son was a teenager, living with his father in another state, he came to visit me in the suburbs of Virginia.  He is nearly 6 feet tall, chestnut brown skinned.  Like many suburbs there is no concept of the corner store.  But about a half mile from our house was a gas station, with the usual quick shop that was pretty much the same thing as the corner store in residential urban centers.  To get to this gas station by car was a short run.  There was a shortcut through the woods behind my house, so that anyone trying to reach the store by foot could cut off some of the distance required in a car. I suggested this out of the way path to him.  He told me in no short order.  “Mom, I’m a Black male.  I can’t be sneaking out of the woods at almost…