As a seventeen-year-old black male, my view to race has been cushioned by growing up in a comfortable, yet politically aware household. While I knew racism existed, it rarely touched me growing up, and when it did, it was the microagressive type. Real issues with race didn’t begin to pop up for me until middle school, and my view on race is now that it is an important part of my identity, regardless of the tribulations that people attach to it. I wouldn’t be who I am without being black, and the thought of not being black is one that never crosses my mind. Although I struggle sometimes with the implications of my race, I think of the feats my ancestors overcame with grace and know that my life today is impossible without the fighting sacrifices they made for me. Rooted in hatred as it may be, my race is risen on account of the audacity of those before us. We owe it to them to continue on with their torch to the mountaintop.