A few racist things

Being a kid sucks. You have to wear clothes your mother picks out for you, go to school in them, learn what your teachers say, go home and practice what your teachers taught, tell your Mom how your day at school was over dinner that she’s slaved over the stove for you to eat or else no ice cream and what kid doesn’t love ice cream. You have to do homework, house work, yard work and some even have to do church work. I had the fortunate opportunity of not only being a kid just like everybody else when growing up but a being a black kid in Walnut Creek. My lips were mocked in 3rd grade, was called a nigger in 4th grade and my skin color was elected the darkest amongst my Asian friends. You’d think Californians would be more progressive. Not! Even in high school my butt was the subject of discernment and though I started a Black Student Union to raise social awareness a White Student Union was organized shortly thereafter to diffuse it.

Born black there was no freedom from it. When the subject of slavery came up in Mr.Tidyman’s 5th grade class everyone turned to stare at me. It was more than any kid should have to endure. For years I internalized the racism, made it my problem to deal with. For the most part I was a polite and responsible kid. For years I curled in my upper lip when I smiled especially on picture day. I was very forgiving. I would also talk to my Mom to gain more insight. I wondered why she didn’t arm me with more words and wisdom needed to handle these sorts of delicate issues. But then again it wasn’t a war. As an adult looking back, I know I handled those experiences all wrong. Why should a nine year old girl have to educate her school about race relations? Why should one have to accommodate so many? If education starts in the home then many homes were either misleading their kids or completely ignoring the subject but the little monsters had to have learned to hate black people from somewhere.

It’s incredibly ironic that after all of that abuse I end up organizing outreach on facebook for the 20 year reunion. Ofcourse there are exceptions. Not every single person was racist towards me growing up but no one ever stood up for me either. To me, there really isn’t much difference. It’s sad and really bad when the few that get beat up and bullied are the ones that show grace when bending the olive tree. It’s not that I’m angry or out for revenge but rather feel a deep desire to beautify what was once an ugly thing. Surely folks won’t hate on that.