Your Words Become Mine (Color of Water)

“I began to notice something about my mother, that she looked nothing like the other kid's mothers.”

I was only in second grade, but even after three years in school, it was apparent that not all people were the same. When I was very small, I didn't go to daycare like other toddlers because my dad works at home. I simply stayed with him, played, watched Between the Lions on PBS with my little brother, and waited for mom to come home in the evenings. It was a good existence, and a lot of fun. The downside to this however, was that my social sphere consisted of about five people, and until I was about two I remember being unsure as to the existence of African-American people. Maybe they did exist, maybe it was merely a rumor that was propagated by Sesame Street to confuse and obfuscate the nation's children. The concept of gender was also extremely upsetting and abstract, because every face was different, and some people did not look one way or another. The mall left me in an existential crisis. Eventually I lost my fear of other ethnicity and moved on to kindergarten as a friendly and well adjusted child with a chronic drooling issue. The next few grades passed in a flurry of colors and shapes and learning little girls are strange creatures. And yet I was blissfully ignorant of racism. And I can thank my enlightenment to my second-grade teacher, Ms. Ramseur.

Ms. Ramseur was a big lady who had a hearing aid and a bad personality. She thought I was disabled because I stared at walls and gave strange roundabout answers to questions when she asked me simple things. She also thought that I might have been a budding dangerous loner because I spent my time at recess playing by myself instead of doing hopscotch or some other inane childhood activity.

How could I explain that I was a flying ace, and the jungle gym was my shiny Messerschmidt? How could I tell her that I was a penguin sliding on my stomach down the slide? She also yelled at squirmy boys and once berated a little girl who couldn't speak English for “staring like a little ghost” all the time. She was a witch of a teacher, to be honest, and the way she taught us about the civil rights movement was less than ideal.

“Sit down, sit down.” She said, making us sit cross legged on grimy carpet squares. That mean lady sat down in her rocking chair and started rocking back and forth. A sense of foreboding seized our tiny bodies as we waited for her to speak.

“This month is civil rights history month.” She said. “Does anyone know what the civil rights movement was?” We looked at each other with small shrugs, wondering where she was going. “The civil rights movement happened in the '60s.” She leaned over us. “But it's still happening today.”

“I know about Martin Luther King.” One boy raised his hand tentatively.

“Who was he?” Ms. Ramseur asked.

“Um. I dunno. But he was real good, my mom says.” The kid said.

“I wanna be Martin Luther King when I grow up!” His friend announced proudly.

“You're stupid. You can't someone who already exists!” The other boy poked him.

“Alright, quiet. MLK fought for equal rights during the civil rights movement. That's why we have a day named after him.” She paused. “Some people in the civil rights movement were only kids, like Ruby Bridges.”

“How come some people couldn't go to school?” I asked quietly. “I thought slavery was over.”

“It was. But African-Americans were still kept back.” She said. I stared blankly.

“But...why?”

“Now listen, class.” She said. “I'm going to tell you about something very, very bad. So bad, I want you guys to never be this way.” We sat rigid with fear. What was so bad that infallible adults were scared of it?

“It's called racism.” Her voice grew solemn. “Slavery was not just rich people making poor people work. It was about white people owning black people.”

I swallowed, nervously unraveling the corner of my carpet square. I stole a glance at my friend Nadia. I could have owned my friend? Like I owned my pencil? There was a golf ball of worry caught in my throat, and I couldn't swallow it completely. I clicked my pen, and the class all looked around awkwardly.

“The civil rights movement put an end to such discrimination mostly, but there's still discrimination today.” Ms. Ramseur said. We perked up.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But what can we do about it?”

The bell rang for us to go to lunch before she could answer, leaving me worried. There was a lot more terrible in the world than I realized- and it had been right here in North Carolina.