Learning I was different didn’t happen right away. It took some time.
As an adult I’ve often been the only one or maybe one of few Black people in a room. I never walk in looking to be treated differently. I enter treating everyone equally. Letting my personality shine sometimes helps take the emphasis off my skin color.
When I started school many years ago not many cared how outgoing I was. The children in my class were tough enough. The parents and teachers always gave me a difficult exam.
During kindergarten and 1st grade I was 1 of 5 Black students in an entire school. To the parents who frowned on my attendance I was just a blemish on an otherwise pristine class photo.
Teachers and parents spoke slowly to me, overemphasizing their words as if there was a language barrier. I was a Black kid who rode the bus from the inner city to school every morning. I wasn’t being shuttled in from Spain or some indigenous island.
I still didn’t get it right away. I’d gone to a daycare where children of all walks of life played together. Once in school all but a few avoided me. I was told everyone enjoyed me being there and that I was well liked, yet I couldn’t help noticing the disgusted looks.
I’d learn their glances meant that I didn’t belong. |THIS.
[By Mr. Joe Walker]
BLACK is a 9-chapter series that deals with race, social perspective, and inclusion. Each entry is based on real life events.
