I first learned the term “white privilege” during my first year at university. I don’t remember whether it was in a general education class, at an ASPSU (student government) meeting, or through the NAACP, but the revelation has always humbled me. Today, I had another revelation. I woke up before 7:00 a.m., caught the bus, and attended my French class. After class, I hurried back to Granville train station to pick up a lost phone, then spent the rest of the afternoon reading at Borders. My mom offered to deposit about $50 into my bank account for my birthday, but I told her I would prefer a card or a small gift she thought I would like. In the mail arrived Outliers, by Malcolm Gladwell. I had …