I moved a lot when I was growing up. By the time I was 9 I had already moved coasts two separate times. Whenever we moved to a new area, my parents always placed my brother and I into school systems that had the highest ratings. Like most parents, they wanted us to be successful and they felt our long term success would be directly tied to the quality of our early education. Knowing what I know now, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that those schools also tended to be in areas systemically lacking in large POC demographics; but that’s a topic for another time. Now I’d like to acknowledge it was a privilege my parents were able to put me into what most would call ‘good’ schools. I simply believe it’s also important to understand the context of my early upbringing as my experiences were heavily shaped by the environment I grew up in. It’s a fact that the areas I lived in always tended to be predominantly white. And at first, I didn’t feel markedly different compared to my peers. But I’ll say it again: the harsh realities of the black experience in this country are a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’. 

My moment came when I was 7 years old. I was at recess and got into an argument with another boy in my class over something I imagine was crucial to a 7 year old mind. We argued for a moment and then he ended the conversation with “Whatever, you’re a N*gger anyways”. I’ll never forget the feeling that came next. My 7 year old mind struggled to comprehend what he’d said. My parents had brief conversations about the word with me and its impact, but nothing that had prepared me for the real thing yet. Transparently, I didn’t really know how to feel. Should I be mad? Should I be sad? Should I fight? Should I tell someone? Should I yell? Cry? There were so many options running across my mind, but I just stood there. Silent. And from that silence one phrase emerged: YOU ARE DIFFERENT. 

I remember the look on his face. The satisfaction he had taken from visibly disorienting me. I watched the hatred he had in his eyes that felt aimed at me, but at the same time, aimed at something beyond me. This was the kind of hatred that’s taught. People aren’t born with this type of hatred. It’s something that’s passed down from generation to generation, eroding decency and reducing people to their base instincts. In that moment I was powerless against the heritage of hatred he’d thrown at me. 

"Our experience is one that feels like more of an inevitability than a probability: not if, but when."

Prior to that moment I’d believed that the things that made me different were decisions I’d made, things I had chosen to believe. This experience was the first time I’d been TOLD I was different. For the first time I was different because of something I had no control over.

Honestly, as obviously traumatizing as this experience was, it’s what this moment symbolizes that I feel carries the most weight. This singular moment, while a dark spot, yes, was just one of what would end up being many experiences that made me feel ‘othered’. I liken experiencing racism and bigotry to re-opening a wound. Once that first wound is made, it never really heals. Somebody cuts you and over time it slowly begins to heal, until the next person opens up the same wound. And even if enough time passes that the wound closes, there’s still a scar that’s left behind as a reminder. Sure you may get used to the pain, and the wound may heal a little faster, but every time you’re cut you’re reminded of the very first time. For me, there’s a moment where I’m that same 7 year old boy again, confused by the wall of hatred in front of me.

"I liken experiencing racism and bigotry to re-opening a wound. Once that first wound is made, it never really heals."

I say all of this to simply shed light on what is a common experience for people of color. And for the sake of progress, I believe it is imperative that we teach each other and the next generation the impact of our words and actions. Because I think oftentimes we assume adults are the only ones experiencing active racism. Too often it’s children that are on the front lines in this battle, being asked to take up the mantle for a fight they haven’t even begun to understand.

To close out, I’d like to acknowledge that my experiences and opinions are not the singular voice. There are nuances to every individuals experience. Regardless, I hope you found something meaningful in what I shared today. Until next time, thanks for reading.