When my older brother AJ was in high school, he was a reasonably well dressed fifteen-year-old. He did not have long dangling locks or hair that concealed his chocolate-colored face. My brother was top of his class and never got into any kind of trouble whatsoever. I was about fourteen years old when my parents had a talk with me and I realized that these facts about my brother would never matter to a majority of our world. In 2004, the popular belief was that racism had ended, everything was congenial in the world, and that different races could coexist peacefully with the same rights. Yes, black people could vote and be doctors, but animosity was still and always will be present in their everyday lives no matter what their occupation or image might
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The story that my family told me to realize this was one that particularly stayed with my mother for years. On a bright sunny day midafternoon, my mother was waiting outside of a local high school in her car as she did every day; she was waiting for AJ. In front of her was another mother patiently waiting for her child. The only difference between this woman and my own mother was the simple fact that this woman was white. Minutes went by until my brother finally exited the school building. As he was walking up to my mother’s vehicle, showing off his bright smile and giving a small wave, my mother saw a brief flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. The motion she noticed was violent and quick. It was only until my brother passed the car of the white woman did she realize that the woman had reached over to lock her car door. As my fifteen-year-old brother walked by, the white woman had locked her door out of fear. The thing that got to my mother was that this woman had no reason to do such a thing. In a matter of seconds, the white woman had judged my brother by the color of his skin, deciding that he was trouble. She had no
The story that my family told me to realize this was one that particularly stayed with my mother for years. On a bright sunny day midafternoon, my mother was waiting outside of a local high school in her car as she did every day; she was waiting for AJ. In front of her was another mother patiently waiting for her child. The only difference between this woman and my own mother was the simple fact that this woman was white. Minutes went by until my brother finally exited the school building. As he was walking up to my mother’s vehicle, showing off his bright smile and giving a small wave, my mother saw a brief flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. The motion she noticed was violent and quick. It was only until my brother passed the car of the white woman did she realize that the woman had reached over to lock her car door. As my fifteen-year-old brother walked by, the white woman had locked her door out of fear. The thing that got to my mother was that this woman had no reason to do such a thing. In a matter of seconds, the white woman had judged my brother by the color of his skin, deciding that he was trouble. She had no