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Brown girl rejected with red blood

Anonymous,
USA.

Grew up as the only little brown girl in class, always having to explain why my hair grew up to the skies when it rained and the humidity took control of my tresses, then drew tightly too my head. Never getting assistance from the PTA moms passing out red and black combs on picture day to make all the yellow-haired girls pretty for their cameo shots for school pictures. Always being left out, last picked, first ignored. Always looking for other under-dogs to befriend, going over to play with them, getting told by parents that lil’ Suzie isn’t allowed to play with n*****s. Me, going home confused because I wasn’t that bad word they said that I did not understand. It was the name my momma gave me and I was Suzie’s friend. I grew up to enter the field of science and eventually write book on embracing the beauty of hair that rises up to praise the Lord and a crown made uniquely to protect my brain and my body from the harsh subsaharan heat, hair that measures the barometric pressure of the wind and responds to shield me from the elements or expands to release energy when needed controlled by a medulla found in brain and tightly coiled hair – uniquely by God.

“The only Mexicans I’ve ever met ..”

Josie Villanueva
Washington, DC

“… pick our melons on my Daddy’s farm.” she said to me, with wide eyes, on one of the first days at Hoosier Girls State. I was one of the very few Latinas in the program, a delegate chosen for my academic excellence and leadership at my high school. I think it was her surprise at seeing me there that was the most heartbreaking. I was 17 years old and the year was 2005.

Seattle, only white girl in class.

Yaela Ettlinger,
Olympia, WA.
Collected from The Race Card Project, On Location: Seattle Community Colleges

Born 1950. Attended Madrona Elemetary on 34th street and Union, Seattle from 1955 – 1962. We could all play together until 3rd grade. Then the other African-American girls began to follow me and my best friend Joan around the playground calling, “What are you doing with that white girl, Joan?”. So Joan could no longer be with me during school hours. Lonely times for me!

The only race without a country

Snapshot_20150704_91Denise Smith,
Birmingham, AL.

Who am I, and where do I belong,
Who am I and why can’t I sing my own song,
Why in order to be accepted, must I talk like you,
Why must I walk and sing your song too,
Who am I and where do I belong,
Did you not know that there are many thrones,
Bedded inside me are gold and pearls,
Me and my people are from a different world,
There is a deepness within me that’s fighting to be,
Fighting for freedom that I can taste but never see,
The love that I have in my heart,
The forgiveness that I’ve given from the start,
Who am I and where do I belong,
It was you that brought me here and now you want me gone,
Who am I and where do I belong,
I’m the only man on this planet called earth,
That does not have a home,
Leave me and let me be,
The pain is much to bear,
You do’t have to love me,
Just asking that you treat me fair,
Who am I and what country do I belong,
I am of the dark skin race
That does not have a home

I’ve been the ONLY Black kid..

Kelly B. Ferrell
Sterling, VA

As the child of nomadic parents, we lived where we could and/or where my parents found work. At one point in the mid “70s, we lived in up-state NY, outside of Ithaca. We were the only black family in the area (in the county the way I remember it) and I was the only Black child that many of my classmates had ever seen. I went to Freeville Elementary and to Dryden Elementary and I remember being IT. The only time I ever saw Black people were at home. Mrs. Shapiro was my 3rd grade teacher and was the kind that makes such an impression on you that you never forget their name. When tryouts for the Christmas play were over and I was awarded the part of Mrs. Santa, PARENTS complained that I couldn’t possibly play that role as Mrs. Santa was WHITE. Mrs. Shapiro gave me the role in spite of them and I have that photo to this day. That experience shaped the way that I learned to think, speak and even how I learned. We moved after I finished the 3rd grade and ended up in Gary, Indiana. Both the Jacksons and the steel mills were gone and pretty much the entire city was out of work. It was there that I was introduced to all Black schools and neighborhoods. Because I “talked White” I got my behind kicked every day on the way too and from school until I finally learned to stand up for myself. All that being said, I am against segregation in any form. Segregation causes the mind to atrophy. It leads people into thinking that there is only one right way…or only one wrong way. Those who believe themselves superior are acting on an insecurity and a cultivated fear of the unknown and those made to feel inferior have to overcome a toxic self-hatred and crippling self doubt that tends toward negative self-fulfilling prophesies. I personally have found myself most comfortable in environments in the US where no one is in the majority.

Aye, don’t panic, I’m only Hispanic

Joshua Cruz,
Salt Lake City, UT.

As a Hispanic growing up in Utah, I have lived in multiple cities, each different than the other. From cities where the Hispanic culture is massive, to where I have become the only colored family in the neighborhood. With multiple occasions filled with accusations such as have you asked the black family over there?” It hasn’t always been so bad.

Blacks are always…but you’re Okay!

Phyllis Batson
Chicago, IL

It’s tiresome for folks who are, even in this day and age, ‘first’ or ‘only’. I would so much rather be the ‘go to’ person for legitimate dialog than that friend, colleague, neighbor who is somehow OK, the proverbial exception to the rule. It negates who I am and who we all are as humans – unique and individual, flawed and perfect at the same time.

Only white man on the bus.

Greg Van Schuyver
Seattle, WA

While visiting Atlanta on business years ago, I took a bus to an event but got on the wrong bus on my return. I was the only guy on the bus and then at each stop it started filling up with African Americans. Some were business people, others families with strollers, shoppers…no one to be threatened by so I was surprised by the un-easyness I felt. Further reflection has helped me consider the challenges of others and do my best to treat equally those who are not like me.

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