Now I am in contact with a different world, one that has no school walls between reality and me.
I didnít die my first
day in high school, but eventually, changes that I had never expected occurred.
There were a lot more kids at Heights High, and most of them were not like
me. There was a solid 70-30 ratio. This was the first time in my life when
my whiteness seemed to be a disadvantage. ìBetter blend in, bud!î I said
to myself. The logic behind this thought was awesome. It wouldnít matter
what I could do, I would still stand out like a tall, skinny, white boy
in an almost completely black school. So, I did what every other white
kid did, and found some other white kid that I recognized and stood next
to them. It was like having a mobile security blanket. We used each other
like little parasites, walking through the hall. But, then we realized
that someone had made life comfortable for us anyway. All of the honors
classes that I was in were almost all-white. It didnít really represent
the numbers of the school, but I wasnít really complaining. It was a little
haven of whiteness in this overwhelming tide of blackness.
Itís not like I could
hide forever, though. There was still hallway time, and common, lower level
classes. There was plenty of time for a solid, traditional beat-down. As
afraid as I was of being myself, I tried it a few times in Gym class. Eventually,
I learned after the swelling around my ears went down, that we would have
to change. I would have to give up this idea that I could just cut myself
off from seventy percent of the school. I didnít change my identity or
anything. I started listening to what people were saying, instead of just
brushing it off as junk talk. It was a new language. But, when I listened,
the jokes started making sense. I would be sitting in class and hear someone
make a joke, and it was funny. Slowly, I got looks, but they werenít shooting
through me with the usual laser sharpness. It seemed that the black kids
in my class didnít think that I was accepting of them at first either.
They had put their shields up just like me. Things got better and better
everyday. There was more of a mutual respect thing going on. Maybe, it
was just macho male bonding in your average PE class taking over. But,
maybe we had both forgotten to hide behind our color. We had realized that
underneath whatever biases we had been covered with all of our lives that
we were still similar. We all just wanted to win in whatever we played,
whether it was football, basketball, or kickball, it didnít matter. We
were all rated on our abilities as an athlete. When you got picked for
a team, it wasnít based on color. It was on your potential as a human being.
It took me a long time
to become as comfortable as I did in high school. Gym class was the first
step. I got beat up a few times for being who I was, and so did friends
of mine. There was one incident freshman year, when this kid started wailing
on me without even finding out each otherís names. He didnít even go to
school with us. I felt that I was just singled out as the only white boy.
The same year, a friend of mine was actually seriously injured. A pretty
huge guy from our drafting class took a few swings at my friend. His skull
was punctured by a spiked brass knuckle that the guy was wearing. My friend
was okay, and the kid went to jail for that one, but it reinforced that
fear that I had a bulls-eye on my back. But, I did get over it. Eventually,
my fear subsided, and I could walk the halls of my school, when I wanted
to, without fearing my own whiteness.
Marquette is a pretty white place in America. I donít mean Milwaukee; I mean the school is very, very white. It still throws me off sometimes. When I go to class, and all I pass are white people. While it feels comfortable, being surrounded by people that look like, and act like me, it also is a thorn in my side. There is an enormous sense of guilt that follows me everywhere. How do you pass all of these poor people on the street, which seem to be a majority of black people? Iíve got it pretty good. I go to a decent middle-class university in America. There I am, walking between them and the bus everyday between classes. Do, I feel bad about who I am? Not at all. Do I feel bad about what I represent? Most definitely. I feel like I am the chance that they were never given. I am the potential success, which they will never have it as good as. But, all I keep doing everyday; is just walking to class everyday. But, I swear, I can feel their glaring eyes seeing first my whiteness, and then knowing what it represents. It might be a matter of prejudice, but I still feel ashamed at times. I just want to be invisible, and not be thought of like that.
I know that I shouldnít
feel bad. I couldnít control who gave birth to me. It just happened. I
know if these people that I pass everyday were in my situation, they would
not give up what they had out of guilt. Maybe, it will all come to me someday;
what to do with this so-called burden. Back in high school, I thought that
I had it all figured out. I felt more comfortable in my sheltered world.
Now, I am in contact with a different world, one that has no school walls
between reality and me. I see the rest of the worldís view of me. There
is a lot of hate, just staring at me and my Gap jeans. I can feel it, and
I can only understand a part of it. Because of this, I donít know if
I will ever be able to walk down the street without the feeling of disgust
in myself, giving me a stutter in my stride. Whiteness is still an advantage
in America. As long as this is true, and the masses continue to agree,
the dirty looks will continue, and I will still walk a little awkwardly
down the street on the way to class.