The day I found out my teacher was racist!
It started like any other school day would. I woke up late, rushed to get ready, and drove myself to school on this particularly gloomy Thursday morning. I had made it to school right on time, and I walked into my consumers math class. At around 9:30 the bell rang, and all of us got up and rushed out of the door to our next class. A group of my friends went to their lockers to grab a few things, so I was the first one to walk into my English class. “Good Morning”, I said to my English teacher as I was walking into the classroom. He spun his chair around to face me, grabbed his coffee cup, and walked over to his podium. “Good Morning Paige”, he replied back. The second bell rang and the rest of the class piled in and took their seats. “How is everyone doing today”, the teacher asked the class. “Meh” my friend Christian replied with his head slumped over the desk and his eyes barely open. My teacher laughs, and replies” You all look really tired today”. This was a normal way to start class everyday. Their were only seven people in this particular class, and we were all friends. This teacher, however, was never my favorite for various reasons, but I had learned to settle my differences.I was in a particularly good mood that morning for no apparent reason and decided to spark up the morning chat “So last night I was watching Dr. Phil with my grandmother, and it was about this African American lady who tries to be a ‘white’ women. She believes that ‘white’ people live a more sophisticated life.In order to be ‘white’ she feels as though she has to wear a blonde wig. It had to be one of the craziest segments I have ever watched.” My friend Peter says, “OMG I found something on youtube about this white lady who thinks she is ‘black’. She gives herself fake tans, and feels as though she has to wear a grill and corn rows in order to be ‘black’.” At this point the conversation is light, and we are just having our casual weird conversation of the day. My friend Paige says, “That’s crazy”, in which I reply “ I know, since when does being ‘white’ require blonde hair and ‘black’ require a grill. My teacher finally decides to chime in after a while of hearing our thoughts. “Well, the black lady trying to be ‘white’’, isn’t as bad as the white lady trying to be ‘black’.” I make a funny face at his remark thinking to myself how are they different. My friend Ashton says,” They are both wrong for the stereotypes they put around both race.” My teacher gets up from the podium with his coffee in his hand and gets closer to us, “No”, he says, “ the white lady is just wrong for putting that stigma around the black race, but the black lady is just trying to better herself.” Everyone pauses and I say, “What?” Point blank my teacher looks me in the face and says,” She is trying to better herself, because it is better to be white”. I stop, and out of nervous confusion I laugh. He looks at me with a straight face and says “No, seriously that’s just how it is. To be white is to be better.” I pause, and take that moment in, after this remark things get a bit hazy in my mind. All I could focus on is that this man really just said that to my face. I looked around the room to see if everyone is as shocked as I was, and by the looks of it I was not alone. I felt intimidated as I was the the only colored person in the class, along with an Hispanic kid who doesn’t seem as offended as me. After a long pause, one of my white classmates looks up, and says “No! That isn’t right”. My teacher says,” It’s not right, but that’s just how life is. I am so lucky to be a white male. I don’t have to worry as much. I mean look who our President is. Im perfectly fine the way I am.” At this point in my mind he has taken it way too far. I got up and left the room. No one in that class knew how to respond, and they all kept looking at me for a response. I couldn’t take that kind of pressure.
I went to my cousins office, who was the school counselor at the time. She is Puerto Rican, and I explained the entire situation to her. I just needed to get validation that what he said really wasn’t okay. Up to this point I had never really had to deal with racism up close and personal. It was only something I had heard about, but never something I Iived through. She looked shocked and could say nothing more than “No…. Did he really say that?” and “I’m so sorry Paige.” After cooling down I re-enter the classroom. The conversation has been over and he is busy writing something on the board. After about 5 minutes I see the vice principal walking up to the door with my cousin right behind her. My heart is pounding, because I already see what’s going to happen. My leg starts shaking, a nervous tick. She finally walks in and sits down. The class is dead silent and she breaks it with,” okay, so I heard we are having a conversation today that got out of hand, and I need to know who made the complaint.” With my eyes reverted to the ground I say “It was me”. I can see the hesitation in her face as she blankly stares at me, I can see she is trying to formulate a sentence in her head. She looked at my teacher with a serious face and said, “You really need to watch what you say, and how you say it.” He hastily denies ever saying those things, and I am quick to respond. “Nope, you looked me in my face and said exactly that ‘It is better to be white”. He clenches one fist and looks at me with a glare, “That’s not at all what happened”. My friend Ashton replies with, “That is exactly what happened”. After a few more moments the bell rings and I get up and leave, the rest of my class behind me.
When we get into the hallway my friend Shae, with wide eyes, says, “What just happened in their?” “ I don’t even know”, I respond to her statement, “I’m so sorry guys, I shouldn’t have said anything.” My friend peter quickly turns from putting books away in his locker and says, “No you had every right to complain about what he said, that wasn’t right.” He takes a step towards me and hugs me, “ Are you okay,” he asks. “Ya I am just really shocked. I can’t believe he said that to me”
Later that night I told my mother the whole story of what had happened in my English class. She is a short women with a light complexion half Portuguese and Puerto Rican. “He said what to you,” she replies shocked.
The next day, Friday, I walk into school dreadfully. I was totally dreading his class. I walk to my locker, grab my books and I walk to my homeroom class. “Can Paige Gooden please come to the office?”, I hear over the intercom. My homeroom teacher gives me a weird face as I am never called to the office. I walk out of my homeroom class and at a distance I can see my Principle and her assistant sitting in the office waiting for me. I hesitate to walk in, because I have a pretty good idea of what this conversation is going to be about. My English teacher happens to be the Principles son, all I can think to myself is, “This can’t be good”. I walk in, “Shut the door please”, she says. I shut the door and sit next to her assistant who is sitting in the chair next to me. The principle is in the chair on the other side of her desk staring me down. Her assistants body is facing me completely now and she joins in the staring competition. Wide eyes I look at my principle, then her assistant, than back at my principle. “Hi Paige, your mom called us today, and told us about what happened in English class yesterday.” Her voice sounds really concerned, but yet I feel like it’s fake. “You know, when my son was a little boy we lived in an area where there were only Cape Verdean people. We were literally the only white family in the area. My son was born into that, and we had to explain to him, when he got old enough to understand of course, that he was white and that he wasn’t Cape Verdean at all. It broke his little heart.” She laughs, and I laugh with her just to make it seem like I care, but I don’t. “My son isn’t racist, I can assure you”. Her assistant looks at me and says, “Do you think that he is racist?” I look at her and back at my principal and reply with, “I don’t know.” The true answer was yes, but I couldn’t tell her that. Her assistant says, “You should know he isn’t, you have known him for years.” “I know” I reply to her statement. My principle chimes back in, “Paige we really want to know how you are feeling, I just can’t let you leave for the weekend without clearing this up with you.” I have a smile on my face, not because I’m happy, but because I’m nervous. “Well, what he said wasn’t okay, even if he isn’t racist. It hurt me, and it made me uncomfortable. I cant change my color or who I am. That statement belittled me, my race, and my culture” “ I understand,” my principle says. When she feels like the issue is resolved she lets me leave.
A whole hour in her office, and in my mind the entire conversation was pointless. I didn’t want an apology from his mother, I wanted an apology from him. It was already time for English class at this point. I went to my locker to grab the material I need for his class. My friend Shae looks up and alerts the rest of my friends that I’m back. All six of them huddle around my locker. “What happened”, my friend Kauê askes. I explain the whole conversation, and we walk into class. Quietly we all take our seats. He is aware of our presence but continues finishing his tasks. He walks out of the room, and peter breaks the silence. “OMG do you think he is going to give us the silent treatment.” My friend Paige replies with, “Probably, I wouldn’t be surprised.” The year before, him and Paige had a disagreement on a particular subject, and the class ended with Paige in tears. For the next week the only communication he had with us was through what he wrote on the board. It finally ended when we complained to our vice principal.
The teacher finally walks back in the room. Another five minutes goes by and he sits down in front of us, but facing me the most. I had my head resting on my hand, with my legs crossed, and I was staring at the ground because it was too uncomfortable to look him in the eyes. He sighs and finally speaks. “I just want to apologize to all of you, I never meant to offend you guys.” He is pretty close to me, and when I look up I can see tears in his eyes. He looks at me directly this time, and says “Please forgive me”. I look at him with a smile, “Ya, I forgive you.” The rest of the class also agreed that they forgave him as well.
After that day I was truly able to forgive him. We went on with the rest of the school year as normal as can be. However, that day I learned that my feelings are validated and valuable. It also made me prouder of who I am, and my skin color. It was a moment meant to bring me down, but I was able to rise above his words.