A Reflection On My Culture

I remember vividly the day I realized I was black. I was nine years old. From the time I was born until I was nine, my family lived in an area that was predominantly white. For some reason I never realized that I was different. I was never treated differently by anyone and the thought never crossed my mind. At the age of nine, my parents divorced and I moved with my mother to an area that was predominantly black. I remember the moment like it was yesterday. I came home from my first day at my new school and I said, "Mom, there are so many black people at my school." She looked at me with amazement and said, "honey, you are black too." I remember feeling like I finally "got it" even though I had no idea what "it" was. At this point I became interested about learning everything there was to know about my culture and my heritage.

Growing up, we moved a lot. I was constantly changing schools and was able to become a "chameleon" wherever I was. I had both white and black friends. I enjoyed spending time with people of all races. I never dealt with racism during my youth. My parents taught my brother and I to respect all people and that differences were okay. While we were never wealthy, we were certainly middle class. We were taught that some people had to deal with hardships but that you can always rise above them with a good education. Getting the most from our education was mandatory in my house. I appreciate all my parents did to instill in me the importance of accepting diversity.