Racism - I Was Born a Middle-class, White Child

Racism and Prejudice - I Was Born a Middle-class, White Child …

Professor’s comment: This essay assignment was designed to equip students with an understanding of academic research, theories, and concepts on race relations and then use that as a basis from which to critically think about, analyze, and develop strategies for change, both for themselves and for the world around them.

This student takes us back to his childhood in Smallville and re-examines with us his upbringing, race relations in his town, his own awareness, and ultimately his and our need for change. He does this beautifully with the use of vivid and poignant imagery, juxtaposition, and allusions. Along the way, He takes us not just to Smallville but into our own lives and minds.

This paper is the best I have ever read; it is enlightening, inspiring, and rich.

I was born a middle-class, white child. I was never self-conscious about it until now. I grew up in a small town, “hick-town” some have called it. Twenty years ago, when my family first moved there, the small green sign on the south side of town read, “Smallville, Elevation: 1450 feet, Population: 1350.” In twenty years, the second number on the sign has changed little more than the first. I remember when my father used to take me out through the orchards to talk with the farmers, for that’s what people do in Smallville. They farm. Pears, grapes, walnuts, and a few kiwis, all financed by big white banks, grown by plump white farmers, sold by chubby white brokers, and harvested by Mexican-Americans. What a country. My chubby father markets pears and grapes. And he would take me out into Rick Bengard’s pear orchard. And with acres and acres of pear trees all around us, he would tell me how Unc...

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...a half years ago, I figured that compared to most people, I was fairly aware. Since then, the most important thing I’ve learned is how much I don’t know. I don’t know what it is like to go to class and be the only dark spot on white linen. I don’t know what it is like to have to fight mentally, physically, and spiritually to preserve a cultural identity. I don’t know what it is like to fear running at night. I don’t know what it is like to be feared if I run at night. I don’t know what it is like to live under a shroud of stereotypes. I don’t know what it is like to have people who instruct me subtly ignore me and people who sit next to me subtly avoid me.

And I don’t know what it is like being an ethnic minority on this college campus, this institute of higher education, this large-scale Smallville, this sheltered little world that is only “fairly aware.”