Growing Up Black in America – Elementary School
Growing up black in America is something that many people are not aware of when it comes to how it affects education. There is this mistaken belief that education is fair and equitable for all students. Nothing can be further from the truth.
When I started going to school, I was exposed to examples of discrimination even though I didn’t know that I was being discriminated against. In elementary school, black students were the minority and white students were the majority represented. I was a very bright student, so I did quite well as I progressed from one grade to the next. My sister was 2 years older than me and was also a good student, although she had to study hard to maintain her grades. For me, naturally, it was easier, so I would study less and still do well.
When I entered fifth grade, I saw the first signs of racial profiling. My grades were among the highest in the school and when we had assignments I noticed that white students who were struggling could get help from the teacher. When any of the black students had the same problems, the teacher would tell us “to figure things out.” It got to the point where I stopped asking for help, I learned to research things on my own and when I saw my classmates struggle, I would agree with them how I was finding my answers (basically, I spent my Saturdays in the nearby library). . My home doing my homework. My teacher saw my initiative and my willingness to share my research with other students. Not once did he cheer me up or say he was doing a good job. At this early age I learned that it was better to cheer me up because nothing was coming from her class.
By eighth grade, the teaching staff knew I was brilliant and competing for the Valedictorian award at the end of the year. Some of us students were selected to go to a neighboring high school for a special science project that they were doing. The goal was to help us develop a love of science and prepare for high school. I found the program enlightening, but was put off by the fact that I was one of the few black students chosen to participate because of my grades. I found that the criteria for choosing white students to attend wasn’t really fair, but I knew it was.
As the year progressed, the top two candidates for Valedictorian were me and another student named Jeffrey, who happened to be white and a good friend of mine. Our classes rotated and we had four eighth grade teachers. All four teachers gave Jeffrey additional tutoring before and after class and were especially interested in him being successful that year. Even though my grades were better, I did not receive any encouragement, help or anything to improve. I found this to be very unfair and could feel resentment building as we got closer to graduation. Jeffrey and I would talk and he would say “I don’t know why I’m getting all this special attention and help when you clearly have the best GPA and you should be a Valedictorian. For whatever reason, they are pushing me to beat you. I would love for them to know. stop. “
In the end I defeated him and became the Valedictorian. I gave the graduation speech and my family said that I shouldn’t talk about the injustice I saw, but what graduating means to me and my fellow graduates. My mom said “don’t stoop to their low level of discrimination. Get on that because you’re better than that.”
She was right.
