THE DAY I FOUND OUT I WAS BLACK

The day I found out I was black was an interesting day.

I was 5 and living in London with my family.

The day started off ordinary. My parents woke me up, got me dressed, and dropped me off at school.

When it was time for recess, my friends and I went off to the playground to run around & play.

Then, it happened.

I had to pee.

I told my friends I’d be back and ran off. I got to the closest unisex restroom and joined the line of 6-8 kids waiting to use it. What happened next is both amazing and memorable.

The young boy in front of me in line turned around, with a hateful look, hawked up spit from his throat and spat in my face.

Then he turned back around as if NOTHING HAD HAPPENED.

At first, I was stunned. Seconds later, embarrassed.

The laughs & jeers from schoolmates reminded me we had an audience. I didn’t know what to say or do. I was too confused to move.

I spent the next few moments replaying what happened in my mind.

Was there anything I said that could have upset him?
I hadn’t uttered one word to him.

Was there anything I did that could have upset him?
I was standing in line for the restroom, like everyone else.

Eventually, the blood returned to my legs and I quietly walked away to find a napkin.

I told no one what happened. Not the school authorities. Not my parents. I didn’t know how to explain that I had been spat on in the face by a white male student simply because I was black.

Yes, it dawned on me that my skin tone had incited his action (and was subsequently confirmed by derogatory comments about my skin color made by classmates).

Apparently, it angered him enough to make a public statement of disapproval.

The funny thing?

Until that moment, I wasn’t really aware that I was black.

Yes, I knew my skin was of a darker shade than most students at my school (I attended a predominantly white school) but no one had ever made any fuss about it.

My parents never told me I was different from the other kids because my skin tone was darker. My friends at school were white girls and they hadn’t mentioned it.

I was oblivious of its significance.

Well, I got the memo that day.

I decided to throw the experience into the recesses of my memory and “get over it”.

If only it was that easy.

It took TIME to heal from it.

So, why am I telling you this story?

Is it to incite racial anger and divide?

No.

We have enough of that. I’m assuming you’ve seen recent media headlines.

I’m telling you this story because it's important to note that hate, prejudice, and racism are LEARNED (think nurture versus nature).

We are not born hating each other. We are not born seeing each other as less than. We are not born believing it is right to act hostile towards one another based on our differences.

THE PROBLEM

We are taught those things.

By caregivers and people of influence.

THE SOLUTION

Intentionally teach something different.

Teach acceptance of differences and tolerance for others. Teach respect for human life and rights. Teach the importance of creating safe spaces for open and honest discussions about cultural differences, bias, and tolerance.

As caregivers, teach these to your children.

As educators, teach these to your students.

As managers and leaders, teach these to your teams.

As religious leaders, teach these to your congregation and followers.

THE METHOD

Open conversations and dialogue.

Creative activities and social experiments about race and cultural differences, prejudice, and respect.

Challenge your own biases. Unlearn, relearn, and teach.

This is one path towards a better future where respect for all (regardless of race or creed) is the norm, not the exception.

P.s. it would be remiss of me to give the impression that I forgave the boy that spat in my face easily. I didn’t. I used to dream of meeting that boy again & beating the stuffing out of him. I imagined decorating his face with my world-class saliva. It took time to heal...and forgive. That credit goes to God. If not for God eh...