I grew up in a two parent household, my father was the primary income earner – my mother the disciplinarian. My sister and I were actively engaged in the community by way of church, dance school, and Girl Scouts. Our family owned a home in Wildwood, NJ; therefore, that’s where summers were spent. Food was always on the table and clothing, not necessarily the most fashionable, was always on our back. A bad day was being told I couldn’t go somewhere or that I better not do something.

I have memories of elementary school and a lawsuit. My parents weren’t happy with a decision that was made on my behalf and exercised their legal right to sue. I was truly excited to get dressed up and go meet the judge, the lawyer had prepared me for the day so I wouldn’t be nervous. I got to city hall and was taken into one of the most beautiful rooms I’d ever seen. I sat in the big leather chair, my feet not touching the floor, and looked with amazement as the details of the trial were explained to me in advance of anyone else arriving. Before I got a chance to meet the judge I was told an agreement had been reached so I didn’t have to speak. My feelings were so hurt that I wouldn’t have the opportunity to meet the judge, I was so looking forward to it!

High school had some tense times but not intolerable. Most issues were typical teen related drama with an occasional issue arising as a result of something I said to an adult that my mother deemed disrespectful. I earned good grades until tenth grade, a chemistry lab fiasco resulted in me having to make up a grade in summer school. Senior year was supposed to be a breeze, I had enough credits for graduation, I was on the badminton team and pep squad and I was a member of the prom committee. Graduation rehearsals were in full swing when I got called to the office of the counselor. My Spanish teacher made recommendation that I not graduate because I wasn’t passing her class, an elective course which was only on my roster to fill a space. I hysterically summoned my mother to the school and after a few meetings I was back at rehearsal.

My parents decided that I’d go to community college, it was their belief that I wasn’t mature enough to go out of state. To this day I refer to that experience as thirteenth / fourteenth grade. While I consider it to have been an extension of high school I can’t deny that it was within those halls that life became real.

Until this point, I had never sat beside students of other nationalities and faiths. I had been in the home of a few Caucasian people that my father considered friends, I’d been to social gatherings and events, but never experienced sharing a learning space. It was in a sociology class that a young woman introduced me to ugliness. In having a discussion about acceptance she raised her hand and asked “would one of the black students be willing to show us their tail?” The professor turned that question into a teaching moment that left her embarrassed and questioning everything her family raised her to believe – but it also left me questioning everything my family taught me.

I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my parents about the situation, surely their anger would match mine. It did not!

My father explained to me that her way of thinking has always surrounded me: back in elementary school when there was a problem with class size the board made a decision to randomly label students in urban neighborhoods as special education so they could justify bringing in more teachers by having the need for smaller class sizes – thus the lawsuit. The Spanish teacher from high school had no valid reason for standing in the way of graduation – the meetings that were held between her, the parents, and school officials revealed that she didn’t like us.

In this teaching moment my father told me there will always be people that’ll think less of me because of my skin color, some because they don’t know better others because they believe their truth. In life I’m never supposed to accept less than I deserve, especially if it’s being denied because I am a Black woman. In that moment he cautioned me not to look for ugliness in people because it’ll reveal itself in due time and lastly not to place myself in positions that can be used as justification for harassment and discrimination.

I wish my father was still here, there’s so many things I want to talk to him about. That little girl excited to sit in a courtroom anxiously awaiting the opportunity to meet a judge now sits as a juror, listening to a trial and passing judgement on a man with her complexion caught up in a system of unbalanced justice. That teenager temporarily held from graduation simply because she wasn’t liked cries out everytime she hears stories of someone being killed over “beef”. That college student angered by someone thinking she had a tail can’t comprehend how it’s still believed that people of color are barbaric and worthy of being disproportionately slaughtered, especially after so many great people have shown differently.

As an adult there is no one protecting me from the ugliness of racism and hatred; therefore, I must protect myself. I withhold spending where my skintone isn’t respected! I avoid those that outwardly show a dislike of me! I ask God to control my temper in uncomfortable situations so that it’s never viewed as raging! I use my small platform to speak out against wrongdoing and injustice!

It’s self reflection time: how are you protecting yourself from the ugliness of today? Are you properly prepared to converse with your children about the realities of hatred and racism when it arrives at the front door? My parents were right, at 17 I wasn’t mature enough for the world – I question sometimes if I’m mature enough for it now!