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Black History Month Narrative

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The first time I was aware of my race, I was six years old. I knew I was black, but it never was objectified by anyone. That is until my elementary school took our class to a water park. One of the boys in my class came up to me and told me he was surprised to see me go on the trip because his father told him that “black people can’t swim” and that I would sink to the bottom of the pool. The boy was not aware of his offensive comment; he was just curious why would I go to a water park if I can’t swim.
In elementary school, I was a very good student, but that did not stop my classmates and even my teachers from belittling me. I loved learning: from the mysteries of science to the wonders of the gods of Olympus. At the end of one school year, …show more content…

One of my least favorite times of the year was Black History Month. Being one of very few black people in class, I was one of the designated readers for the month. When we would read about slavery or the civil rights movement, the eyes of my white counterparts were glued to my face. Having an entire class of white kids stare at me while I explain what lynching and Jim Crow laws was terrifying. Then there would always be a kid that asks, “What about white history month?” and I would be silenced because I did not have the courage to defend who I was. “Can I touch your hair?” was another question I was frequently asked at school. In the beginning I wasn’t bothered by it, but by 7th grade, I had started to feel like a petting zoo. I did not have the vocabulary nor the courage to explain to them that I was uncomfortable. So rather than saying no, I would say yes as I let the white kids marvel over my hair.
During my freshman and sophomore years of high school I was notorious around campus. I was in band and a class officer. I didn’t play football or basketball. I couldn’t dance or rap. Since I didn’t do these things, several of my classmates began referring me as a “white-black guy” and it really pissed me off. I guess because I spoke with proper grammar, dressed with my pants on my waist, and a kept a high GPA, made me “white”. If I don’t fit the stereotype, then I must not be …show more content…

“I don’t care! I don’t want to see you with that nigger!” he yelled, veins bulging out of his head. I was speechless. Her dad looks at me with his menacing eyes and screamed, “Well get out of here you nigger!”
As I backed out of the driveway, blood rushing to my face, I had a sudden realization. My entire life I have been looked at as a stereotype rather than a human being. The color of my skin led to people already having judgement about me before engaging in a conversation. Race is a minor characteristic yet it is deeply constructed within our society. The difficulties that black people experience bubbles up racial tension underlying the “post-racial” society that we live in. It is important to have the vocabulary to describe your lived experiences in order to feel like they are justified because people are always trying to dismiss them. “You people always make everything about race!” they would exclaim. Because, for us, everything is about race and it has always been that way. Black people can’t simply live their lives without the presence of their race being objectified. Those who do not understand need to not only recognize but acknowledge race without being oblivious to the reality of this

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