The first time I had encountered racism was in my second month of kindergarten. Right after 9/11 had happened, my teacher had started to ignore me or call out on all the things I messed up on. There was no in between. All the students started to make fun of me and I told my parents, who eventually had me taken out of that school. My parents later reported her behavior to the school, and teacher got fired. That really confused me as a kid. I did not understand why somebody else’s actions had anything to do with me, just because we are or the same religion. I guess I still don’t know, because there is no justified answer. Maybe it just gives hateful people a reason to hate.
There was a point in my life, that I specifically remember when I really thought about racism, and how it affected people.
When I was in the seventh grade, our English once talked about racism in a class discussion. Afterwards, the boy I was sitting next to started to talk about his “opinions towards black people,” that were extremely hateful, rude, and insulting. The things he said shocked, because I had never heard someone say anything like that. I had always thought people only thought that