I don’t trust this Golden Sweet Potato and I’m concerned the reasoning might be racial. Maybe it’s just my white guilt bubbling up from my empathy glands making me think this is an issue of race, but I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t trust this potato because, and I’m feeling damn-near-fainting levels of anxiety typing this, of its color. Now I know that’s wrong. I do! I know that deep down inside all sweet potatoes are orange, much like pumpkins or botched cloning experiments. I know that this potato can’t help but be the color that it was born (grown) as. But still… that lingering trust issue is there, that kind of deeply embedded gut instinct that forces white people to cross the street when they spot an upcoming black man idling on the street ahead. I know judging by color is wrong, but I can’t help it! Blame the media, blame my parents, I don’t know, blame Obama! But when I read the words “Golden Sweet Potato” on a sign next to a potato, I expect that potato to be, well, gold. And gold you are not Mr. Golden Sweet Potato. So I don’t trust you. But I am concerned that I’m a potato racist.