Have you ever had a moment in your life where you wanted to change your identity? Maybe you’ve plastered makeup on your face to cover up your tiny clusters of freckles; steamed down your hair to get every curl out of it; concealed your smile because of the metal that came with opening it; or burned your arms, legs, and face every time it was a sunny day because you desired to be darker. I too have had these moments in life where I wished that I could alter a small part of myself. The biggest problem that I face, however, is the fact that my identity has a negative connotation to it, and defines who I am before others can even get to know me. When one looks at my face, many stereotypes and prejudiced thoughts can come up simply because of my brown skin.
As an African-American, to many of us, being black means that you should expect the world to have pre-conceived judgments about you. Many will not see the value you possess, believing that you don’t deserve as much care and attention as the rest. In my experience, teachers will not believe in you and keep you in the “regular” classes. In fact, I remember when I was in the fourth grade, a teacher in the school asked everyone, “who here does not like Madison?,” which actually included the teacher as well. She told me that I would not do well in the more advanced classes and that I should “play it safe” and just stick with all of the other “regular” students (I would love to pay her a visit now). As an African-American, you become accustomed to your white classmates distancing themselves from you. You aren’t even surprised when your the only student to not be invited to a classmates’ party because you’ve grown to accept to be ostracized. As a nine year old girl, I truly did not know why I was not getting the colorful cards in the mail like everybody else saying, “you have been invited” and “save the date.” Lunch tables were obviously segregated by race, and when the famous swapping of lunches occurred, nobody wanted food from me or my table-mates, black students. Apparently, we can’t be trusted. An an African-American, police officers will think that you are up to no good when playing on the street. Most of us read the news and see what has been currently going on today regarding the innocent African-American individuals being hurt or killed solely on the basis of their skin color. My brother was hit by a car, while riding his bike, by a police officer when he was in middle school. The officer said, “watch out where you are going. Better yet, go home.”
I can name several other obstacles that we face on a day-to-day basis, but the overarching idea is that my identify can not be covered up by makeup, straightened with a flat iron, or hidden. I have to not only live with it, but embrace it. Being “black” is something unique and special that God gave me. This identity does nothing but make me stronger because of the additional challenges that I have to face, while being able to prove others wrong. Once said by B.R. Ambedkar, “…man does not lose his being in the society in which he lives. Man's life is independent. He is born not for the development of the society alone, but for the development of his self.” Moreover, the world does not determine my purpose, I do.
