As a child, I often heard the phrase, “You’ve been here before!” repeatedly. Initially, its meaning eluded me, but over time, I came to understand its implication: I possessed knowledge that many of my peers, even older ones, did not. My questions often left adults perplexed and sometimes frustrated. For instance, by the age of seven, I was using the word “emaciated” correctly, a term I needed as an aspiring veterinarian. I eagerly programmed televisions for relatives, trained dogs, and explored Black history encyclopedias for enjoyment. My happiness was intertwined with my thirst for knowledge.
This passion for learning set me apart, making me slightly ahead academically but easily bored. At home, I could satisfy my curiosity through books or by bombarding my mom and grandparents with questions. However, the school environment was starkly different.
The classroom’s focus was on order and discipline. For Black and brown children, the message was clear: creativity and freedom were luxuries that the world would soon strip away. Our schedules were rigid, bathroom breaks were scarce, and conformity was expected.
My intelligence and curiosity were perceived as threats to the established order. While it was acceptable to be “smart” within the confines of the system, there was no room for children like me. My inquisitive nature led to questions that disrupted the flow of class discussions. “Why must we stand in line alphabetically?” I would ask, receiving only annoyed glances and curt replies like, “Because I said so.” My teachers quickly labeled me as a problem, treating me like a statistic rather than an individual.
In Texas during the late nineties, corporal punishment was prevalent, especially in underfunded schools. I was frequently summoned to the principal’s office for talking too much. The paddle, which seemed enormous to me as a child, was a constant reminder of my status as a “problem.” I received anywhere from four to ten swats almost daily, and by the end of the year, I had grown numb to it all.
To the educational system, I was just another Black youth on a trajectory to nowhere. In truth, I was merely an under-stimulated child. My experiences in kindergarten set the stage for a tumultuous educational journey. My eagerness to engage often led to overwhelming situations, frustrating teachers and resulting in further punishment.
By second grade, I spent countless hours “placing my nose in a circle” on the chalkboard as punishment for my interruptions. I vividly recall one instance when I was instructed to stand with my nose in the circle while the class was told to ignore me. That day, I felt utterly ostracized. Other times, I was made to hold books in a “chair” position for extended periods, meant to humiliate me into submission.
Elementary school was riddled with paddles, time-outs, and behavior plans. This environment ingrained in me the belief that my background rendered me incapable of success. The low expectations set by teachers, combined with bullying from classmates, made me feel out of place. Lacking the necessary structure that gifted students received, I failed to qualify for advanced programs.
In an attempt to avoid being a distraction, I began to withdraw from classroom participation. The urge to fade away intensified throughout fifth to eighth grade, exacerbated by relentless bullying. In seventh grade, I was too afraid to speak in history class, as two classmates mocked me daily by calling me “N.H.” for “no hair” due to my short haircut. My social anxiety grew so severe that I often experienced physical illness before school.
High school presented an opportunity to escape my internal struggles. I sought validation through relationships, but my grades plummeted. Panic attacks became a morning ritual as I braced myself to enter the school building.
I am not alone in my experience with an educational system that devalues individuality. Now, at twenty-five, I see similar stories of children facing systemic disadvantages. Although I wish my school experience had improved, it remained fraught with challenges. A fight with an ex-boyfriend led to my expulsion, which, unexpectedly, became a turning point in my life.
A judge reviewed my records and offered encouragement, emphasizing my intelligence for the first time. He mandated that I attend a community program for young women, and I took that advice to heart.
Completing my senior year in a more affluent district, I found a supportive environment where I was treated as an individual. I regained control over my education and, with encouragement, pursued college. I thrived, earning letters from the dean’s list and graduating cum laude.
Now, as a mother, I am filled with anxiety watching my two-year-old son display the same curiosity that was punished in me. He immerses himself in his interests, expressing himself freely, and I worry that others may misinterpret this behavior as defiance. I am determined to ensure he retains his natural enthusiasm for learning.
I find myself tearing up as he joyfully runs in circles, singing songs from Moana. I refuse to let him experience the same quality of education that I endured. As he matures, I will emphasize the importance of individuality and creativity. I am already investigating schools with educators who embrace diverse learning styles and reject bias in their teaching methods. If I cannot find an appropriate environment, I am prepared to explore homeschooling options.
My son is fortunate to have a mother who understands the education system’s treatment of those deemed unworthy. The stigma I faced still lingers, and I often grapple with feelings of inadequacy despite my achievements. I am committed to protecting my son from the systemic mistreatment that youth of color frequently encounter. He will never endure the pain of being punished for his eagerness to learn. My experiences have fueled my advocacy for awareness around diversity and the factors contributing to achievement gaps. If I succeed, perhaps many others will benefit too.
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In summary, my experiences with institutional racism in education have shaped my resolve to ensure my son receives the nurturing and supportive learning environment he deserves. I will fight for his right to be himself and learn without fear of punishment for his curiosity.