map of texas, 1836Originally uploaded by ashleyv
The cold winter of January 1993 in Arlington, Texas is a day that will forever be branded into my mind. This day is so important because it is the day I realized I was black.
I was 7-years-old in first grade. I attended Charlotte Anderson Elementary School. I remember my first grade teacher, her name was Mrs. Anderson. She had brown ear-length hair, brown eyes, in her early 40s and had a round body. I still remember her face of stone, mean and red. She never smiled; at least never at me. That stone, mean face was the face she always greeted me with and dismissed me with after school was over. The first grade was hard for me because I was always treated differently. I never played outside at recess and I got to know the corners of the classroom really well. I hated going to school; I felt like a prisoner there.
One day, I asked while I sat in the corner, why I couldn’t play outside? Her face turned red as she yelled from behind her desk, I didn’t deserve to be with the other children. I didn’t understand so I cried wanting to get out of that corner and escape. I told my parents later that day. I remember the anger in their faces.
The next day Mrs. Anderson announced that it was my last day. I was in shock. A part of me was sad because I was leaving my classmates. The other part of me was happy to be free. No more corners and finally recess. At lunch I was called to the principal’s office. My mother and father sitting with Mrs. Anderson and the principal, both of my parents’ faces were made of stone like Mrs. Anderson’s face always was. Mrs. Anderson smiled as I walked through the door. I was nervous I had never seen her smile. My father picked me up.
As we proceeded to leave, my father talking to himself my mother’s eye filled with angry tears. When we got in the car I asked why it was my last day. My father told me our address is different and people are ignorant. My mother screamed, “Because you are a black child and she doesn’t want you there.
I had never heard the word black. I didn’t really understand it, but the word hurt so I cried I felt ashamed, embarrassed, and betrayed. Later, my parents sat me down and taught me about racism and ignorance, that sometimes in my life I will experience that, but they would always protect me.
My mother told me these types of experience will make my skin tough and my soul stronger.
I ended up at a new school, a better one. I decided a long time ago if this ever happened again I would fight back.
