"My name's Anthony Thomas," said the 7-year-old black boy standing in the back of my truck.
"You're Keith," said his friend.
"Anthony Thomas," he said.
"Na unh," said his sister, "your mama named you Keith Oliver."
"Anthony Thomas," he said as if it were a dare, as if he were the only authoirity on his name, as if this was his hoisted flag.
"Why you lieing?" said his friend.
They just stood there looking at each other and at the self-proclaimed Anthony Thomas, not knowing what he was talking about.
"I'll call you Anthony Thomas," I said. "It's a good name."