When I was in first grade, me and this friend I had were working together on a picture during a break. We decided for some reason to draw this big picture of a guy getting shot at, stabbed, burned, bombed, etc. It was funny because we tried to think of what race this "enemy" of our's would be, and I specifically remember going through a list of countries I knew of and deciding that they simply couldn't be enemies. I also knew it couldn't be a black person because I knew black people from church. So, we decided this guy would be oriental, and drew him with slanted eyes. I had just drawn, like, tanks shooting at him and stuff. But my friend decided to draw a stick of dynamite in his crotch and cleverly add a stream of piss originating in that general area too.
The break ended; I hid the drawing in my backpack. Later that night my parents called me into the kitchen and asked me to explain something, they then held up the drawing and I saw that my backpack was on the floor by one of their chairs. I was slightly ashamed, but mostly angry that my parents would go through my backpack without me knowing it. I also hurriedly explained that the dynamite part was drawn by my friend.
This isn't much of a confession, but I thought it interesting. Because, at the age of 6, I had some impression that if we were going to draw a picture of a guy we were gonna kill, he couldn't be German or Russian or something like that because we already had wars with them, and he couldn't be African because that was racist; so, he had to be asian.