My First Fight

In the fourth grade, I had gotten pretty interested in river dancing (yes…I know, an odd interest for a little black girl, but I knew no limits, and

my best friend was white, so…). Anyway, my best friend and I had the opportunity to dance at a venue with my teacher. I was so excited;

practicing the moves in the mirror, going to practices, staying after school, and doing everything I could to make sure I was “Lord Of The

Dance” Ready (I was far from good). The day of the event came, and as I was getting ready to go out, I heard the phone ring and my mother

answered. A short time later, my mother knocked on my door and told me that I couldn’t go to the venue.

My teacher had called my mother to tell her that when she found out specific people would be there, I would not be tolerated and would be

treated poorly because I was black, and she didn’t want me to experience that. My mom then had to sit me down and explain to me that there

were people in the world who would not like me just because of the color of my skin. Even if they knew I was sweet, even if they knew I liked

to sing to the elderly to make them feel better, even if they knew that I liked to river dance.

It was a hard punch to the gut. I was so full of sadness and confusion. How could someone not like me when I had nothing but love to

give? Why wouldn’t they want my love just because I’m darker than them? Over the years this experience has presented itself in many

different forms. I still get punches to the gut. I get hit with two rights and a left every time I see my people like Sandra, Trayvon, Tamir, Patrick,

Mike, Eric, Botham,Philando,Oscar,Rodney,Ahmaud,Breonna,George,Emmett, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and…you get the picture.

The fight is quite literally a massacre. That first blow knocked me down, but it did not keep me down. That is the day that I knew that I needed

to fight, and I’ve been fighting ever since.