As a child, I often heard the phrase, “You’ve been here before!” countless times. Initially, it was a mystery to me, but over time, its meaning unfolded. I realized I possessed knowledge that others my age, even those older than me, lacked. The questions I posed frequently baffled and irritated adults. By the age of seven, my use of the term “emaciated” drew chuckles from relatives; however, to me, it was essential vocabulary for my aspiration to become a veterinarian. I delighted in programming TVs for family, training dogs, and perusing Black history encyclopedias for leisure. Learning was my joy.
My enthusiasm for education often put me ahead of my peers, yet it also left me feeling unchallenged and restless. At home, I could quench my thirst for knowledge by diving into books or engaging my mom and grandparents with endless inquiries. School, however, was a different reality.
In the classroom, the focus was on maintaining order and discipline. For Black and brown students, there was little room for creative expression or exploration; the world outside would inevitably strip that away. Rigid schedules, infrequent bathroom breaks, and an expectation to conform reigned supreme.
My curiosity and intelligence were seen as disruptive. Being “smart” was acceptable only within the confines of established norms. My probing questions frequently derailed class discussions, prompting irritated reactions from teachers. “Why do we have to line up alphabetically?” I would ask, only to be met with disdainful looks. “Because I said so,” was the typical reply. My inquisitiveness was viewed as a threat to order, and I was swiftly categorized as a statistic.
In Texas during the late nineties, corporal punishment was a prevalent practice, especially in underfunded schools. I remember being summoned to the principal’s office nearly every day for talking too much. The paddle, which seemed enormous to my child’s mind, remains etched in my memory. Though its color escapes me, I recall its design, with holes to increase the impact. The principal inflicted punishment without a hint of emotion, as if I were merely an inconvenience. I endured this routine daily, receiving anywhere from four to ten swats, and by year’s end, I had grown numb to the process.
To the educational system, I was just another Black youth destined for failure. In reality, I was merely an under-stimulated child. My kindergarten experiences set a detrimental tone for my education. My eagerness to participate in discussions was often unwelcome, and my challenging of classroom norms left some teachers furious, resulting in further punishment.
By second grade, I often found myself standing at the front of the classroom with my nose in a circle drawn on the chalkboard. On one occasion, I heard my classmates instructed to disregard my presence, deepening my sense of isolation. Other times, I was made to hold books in a chair position for extended periods as a form of humiliation. The message was clear: being “different” was unacceptable, and in some ways, they succeeded in breaking my spirit.
Elementary school was rife with paddles, time-outs, and behavior management plans. I internalized the belief that my background rendered me incapable of success. The low expectations set by teachers, coupled with bullying from peers due to my awkwardness, taught me that I didn’t belong. I lacked the structure provided to gifted students, which prevented me from entering specialized programs.
Desiring to avoid being a distraction, I withdrew from classroom engagement. My urge to blend into the background intensified as I faced daily bullying from fifth through eighth grades. In seventh grade history class, fear silenced me as two classmates taunted me with derogatory nicknames related to my short hair. I developed social anxiety, often experiencing debilitating panic attacks before school.
In high school, I attempted to mask my inner turmoil by seeking validation from boys. My academic performance plummeted as I stopped trying. Each morning before school, I battled panic attacks, mentally preparing to face the building that loomed over me.
I am not alone in my experience of being socialized by the education system to believe I was unremarkable. Now, at twenty-five, I read about other children facing similar challenges. I wish I could say my situation improved because the school recognized my potential, but that was not the case. Instead, after a confrontation with my ex-boyfriend that led to my expulsion, I found unexpected clarity.
Being expelled turned out to be a blessing in disguise. A sympathetic judge reviewed my records and reassured me of my intelligence for the first time in ages. He mandated my attendance in a community program for young girls, encouraging me to strive for better. And I did.
I completed my senior year in a well-resourced school where I was treated with respect. I regained control over my academic journey, and despite my initial hesitations, I was encouraged to pursue college. I was allowed to express my true self again, and I thrived.
With one counselor’s belief in me, one conditional college acceptance, six dean’s list honors, and a cum laude graduation under my belt, I now face new anxieties. I worry because my two-year-old son exhibits many of the same signs of curiosity I was once punished for. His enthusiasm for running, singing, and exploring could easily be misinterpreted as defiance. I refuse to let him experience the same denial of quality education that I suffered.
As I watch him joyfully run in circles, singing songs from Moana, I feel overwhelmed with emotion. I am committed to ensuring he retains this spark. As he grows, I will emphasize the significance of individuality and creativity. I am actively seeking schools that embrace diverse learning styles, particularly those willing to adopt innovative teaching methods without bias. Should I fail to find a suitable environment, I will consider homeschooling as an alternative.
My son is fortunate to have a mother who understands the systemic barriers faced by those deemed unworthy of a quality education. The messages I internalized persist, and I frequently grapple with imposter syndrome despite my achievements. I am determined that my son will never endure the mistreatment often faced by youth of color in educational settings. He will never know the pain of being physically punished for his eagerness to learn. My experiences have fueled my passion for advocating awareness around educational disparities and the causes of achievement gaps. With perseverance, I hope to help other children avoid similar fates.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the impact of institutional racism on education, detailing the author’s childhood experiences of being misunderstood and punished for curiosity. It emphasizes the importance of nurturing individuality in children, particularly in the face of systemic biases. The author is determined to create a supportive environment for her son, ensuring he receives the education and respect she did not.