The Race Card Project
By Michele Norris
Raheem Cash,
Alexandria, VA.
As a kid I spent a lot of time being one of two or three black kids in honors classes. Spent a lot of time being only black kid that played tennis. Spent a lot of time not being considered “black enough”. Well I’m not a kid anymore and fortunately I managed thrive in a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic world.
Serena Serrano,
Eugene, OR.
I grew up in a hispanic house hold and I remember whenever someone would ask me what my name was and I would reply. But when I would tell them my name they would stare for a second at me then my mom and say “oh like the tennis player,” …no like my name my parents parents named me “Serena” for a reason not because they like a tennis player.
Jaer Medina,
8th Grade Holland New Tech High School,
Holland, MI
Tennis has been considered a “white” people sport the same as how soccer is a “Mexican” sport.
Another stereotype would be if I said all black people are good at basketball. My friend has told me why are you playing tennis? Mexicans don’t play tennis. That pushes me to actually do something in tennis to represent Mexicans not just in sports but in everything.
#HollandNewTech
M. Landrum
Atlanta, GA
I grew up poor in a mixed neighborhood in south Atlanta. My two best friends were white and black, and for the most part we all got along. One day my white friend was angry and called my black friend a n*****, and even though I’d never heard the word I could tell that, coming from her, it was vile. I asked my mother when I got home what the word meant, explained what happened, and was told I should probably stop seeing my white friend. I was around 6 at the time.
At about 7 years old, I was learning how to play tennis with my dad. I hated tennis, but it was one of the only times dad was happy with me. We were at a court at our local park, and it was getting late, but the park had lights you could run on a timer. I remember the lights suddenly going off, and then a group of young teenagers began shouting at us. I don’t remember what all they said, but I remember hearing “white pigs”, over and over. I asked my dad if we could turn the lights back on and keep playing, but I could tell he was angry and sad as he led me to the car and explained that the lights wouldn’t come back on after a certain hour. I never knew if that was a lie to protect my innocence, but I took it at the time.
I have more, but it’s not important. There are so many stories of racism, and they all seem to begin so early in our lives. To this day, I don’t understand what drives a person to hate another without even knowing them. I may be a bit naive, but I still hold on to hope, that every time I meet someone new, they don’t judge by anything other than character. Teach your children love, not hate. Teach them compassion, not paranoia. Teach them respect, not fear. Please, be kind to all.
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