I was in kindergarten when I first encountered black people. My all-white class was on a field trip at an outdoor event and we were placed next to a group of them. I remember being quite taken aback at their boisterous and downright obnoxious behavior. They were running around laughing, yelling, and screaming while the teachers tried to coral them into some sort of orderly asemblance. I knew immediately that those children were different from myself and my classmates and I knew from that moment on that I did not want to be around them.
A few years had passed and I was in fifth grade at another all-white school when my class was introduced to a new student: a black boy named David. He was a nice enough kid but I quickly noticed how difficult it was for David to keep up with the rest of us when it came to our assignments. I felt bad for David, and wondered how he had ended up in my class when it was painfully obvious he just couldn’t hack it. ...
Posts
