As a child, I often heard the phrase “You’ve been here before!” more times than I could count. Initially, it puzzled me, but over time, I understood its meaning. I possessed knowledge that many of my peers, including older ones, didn’t share. The adult’s reactions to my questions were a mix of confusion and frustration. By the age of seven, I was using words like “emaciated” with ease, a term I felt was essential for my dream of becoming a veterinarian. I spent my time helping relatives with technology, training dogs, and reading encyclopedias focused on Black history for fun. For me, happiness meant engagement and curiosity.
My passion for learning made me somewhat advanced; however, it also led to bouts of boredom. At home, I could explore my interests through books or endless questions directed at my mom and grandparents. School, however, was another story entirely. There, the primary focus seemed to be on maintaining order and discipline. For Black and brown children, the message was clear: creative expression and freedom were not to be expected, as the world outside would likely take those away. Rigid schedules, scarce bathroom breaks, and an expectation of conformity dominated our daily routine.
My inquisitive nature only made matters worse. While being “smart” was acceptable within the confines of established norms, there was little room for children like me. My questions often derailed class discussions, leading to glares from teachers and irritation. “Why do we have to stand in line in alphabetical order?” I would ask, only to receive curt responses like “Because I said so.” My intentions were often misinterpreted as disruptive, and I was treated like a statistic rather than an individual.
In Texas during the late nineties, corporal punishment was not uncommon, especially in underfunded schools. Almost daily, I found myself summoned to the principal’s office for simply talking too much. I vividly recall the paddle, which seemed massive to my young mind, designed for maximum impact. The principal delivered swats with a cold detachment, as if I were merely an inconvenience to him. Over time, I became desensitized to the punishment, receiving anywhere from four to ten swats each visit.
To the educational system, I was just another Black youth destined for failure. In truth, I was simply an under-stimulated child. My experiences in kindergarten shaped my educational path, where my engagement in discussions was often seen as overwhelming. I understood the material and challenged classroom norms, which infuriated some teachers and led to further disciplinary actions.
By second grade, I spent hours standing at the front of the class with my nose in a chalk circle. On one particularly painful occasion, I was instructed to remain silent while my classmates were told to ignore my presence. I felt isolated and treated as a problem. Other times, I was punished by holding books in a specific position, meant to humiliate me into submission. This constant reinforcement of the idea that “different” was unacceptable took its toll.
Elementary school became synonymous with paddles, time-outs, and behavior plans. I absorbed the message that my background meant I was incapable of success. Low expectations from teachers and bullying from peers due to my awkwardness reinforced my feeling of being an outsider. Lacking the structure afforded to gifted students, I didn’t qualify for advanced programs.
Eventually, I stopped wanting to be a distraction and withdrew from classroom engagement. My desire to blend in intensified as I faced daily bullying from fifth to eighth grade. In seventh grade history class, I feared speaking up, as two girls routinely mocked me for my short hair, correcting anyone who dared to call me by my real name. This led to crippling social anxiety, causing me to become physically ill before school each day.
In high school, I sought solace in chasing romantic interests, abandoning my studies. Panic attacks plagued me every morning as I mentally prepared to enter the school building. I was not alone in being taught by the education system that I lacked uniqueness. At 25, I still read stories of children facing similar obstacles, wishing I could say my situation improved simply because my school recognized my potential. Unfortunately, it did not. A confrontation with my ex-boyfriend resulted in my expulsion.
Ironically, being expelled turned out to be a blessing in disguise. A judge reviewed my academic record and grades, affirming for the first time that I was intelligent. He mandated my attendance at a community program for young girls, and with that encouragement, I began to change. I completed my senior year at a more affluent district where I was treated with respect. I regained control over my schedule and was urged to pursue college, allowing me the freedom to be myself.
With the support of a dedicated counselor, one conditional college acceptance, six dean’s list acknowledgments, and a cum laude graduation, I now find myself filled with anxiety regarding my son. At just two years old, he displays many of the same signs of curiosity that I was punished for. He dives deep into his interests, and I worry that someone may misinterpret his exuberance as disobedience.
Watching him joyfully run in circles, singing loudly to Moana, stirs tears within me. I refuse to let him lose that spirit, and I am already advocating for his right to express himself. As he grows, I plan to emphasize the importance of individuality and creativity. I am actively searching for educational environments that embrace diverse learning styles, particularly those willing to adopt innovative teaching methods without allowing biases to cloud their judgment. If needed, I am even prepared to explore homeschooling options.
My son is fortunate to have a mother who understands firsthand the detrimental effects of an education system that often overlooks those deemed undeserving of quality education. The scars of past injustices linger, and I frequently grapple with feelings of inadequacy, despite my achievements. I am determined that my son will never endure the same mistreatment that youth of color face in schools. He will never know what it feels like to be punished for being eager to learn. My experiences have motivated me to advocate for awareness about the importance of diversity and the underlying causes of achievement gaps. With any luck, I can help ensure that many other children are spared from similar experiences.
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Summary:
Institutional racism significantly impacted my educational journey, forcing me to navigate a system that often viewed me as problematic due to my curiosity and eagerness to learn. However, as a mother, I am committed to ensuring my son receives the encouragement and support I lacked. I will fight to preserve his individuality and creativity, seeking educational environments that value diversity and understanding.
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