I don’t tell many people this story. A five year’s old version of her first racist experience isn’t very appealing. But since it is Black History Month and that’s the only time that we are “allowed” to discuss the transgressions that have occurred against us throughout all of history, I will indulge.

It was a bright and sunny day. I was still a happy all-American kid. By all American, I mean I fit into what the majority considered to be right. I lived with both of my parents in a two-story two-bedroom condo. My dad was a truck driver and my mom was in school working full time. I attended private school and was considered bright for my age. I was innocent. My lifestyle made me oblivious to some things, things that black parents hope their black child would never have to experience.

Every Sunday, my mom drove to the other side of town to walk around this amazing park. It had a wooden structure that resembled a fort. Any kid could get lost within it with all the rooms and stairs. Normally my cousin Keisha and her mom would join us, but today they couldn’t. It took me twenty minutes to convince my mom I was big enough to play on the structure by myself while she walked the trail surrounding the structure. After scanning the park and giving me the speech, “Do not talk to strangers. Do not play with a dog, take candy, or go help anyone in the car.” I nodded my head anxiously. She kissed my cheek and broke into an over exaggerated stride. I ran off and attempted to entertain myself. I climbed through the structure ten times. I pushed myself back and forth in a swing. When I reached my peak, I would take this daring leap to see how far I could go. Eventually I couldn’t take being alone and went to go make new friends.

In mid-journey I find two little girls playing in the rocks. They remind me of my classmates, so I go to them. “Hey do you want to play?” I was so different in my young age. I always smiled. I always wanted to always make new friends. I didn’t care how they looked.

“We don’t play with niggers.” The snarl in the angelic little girl shocked me. Two seconds ago, she looked so happy playing with her little sister. What did I do to get that reaction?

“Nigger?” I’m not a nigger! I’m Cetarracca. You can play with me.” I’m crying. Everyone wants to play with me. They don’t think I’m a nigger. I don’t even know what nigger means.

She grabs her younger sister’s hand. “Leave us alone nigger.” She yelled as they ran off together.

Distraught I plopped onto the rocks and cried. My mom was nowhere in sight, and I didn’t feel like going to find her. I rocked myself back and forth while my tears fell fluently to the ground. After five minutes, she appeared from the wooded areas of the trail. She looked happy walking, but once she saw her only child sitting in a pool of rocks she immediately panicked. She ran full speed towards me.

Once she made it to me, she picked me up from the ground and checked to see if there were any markings or bruises. “Did someone do something to you?” I shook my head yes as tears continued to fall. “What is it? What happened?” Her voice is high pitched.

I tried to explain what happened. “Uhhh… these girls… they called me a word. I don’t know what it means, but they didn’t want to play with me.”

She exhaled, relief covered her face. “What did they call you?” She rubbed my back.

“They said I was a nigger.” For a minute, my mother face goes stone cold. Many different emotions flashed through her eyes: shock, sadness, concern, and then anger.

“Where are their parents?” Her voice was stern. She grabbed my hand and led me in the direction I pointed in.

Once we found their parents, she confronted them. Of course they didn’t know where their daughters learned the word from, because they did not promote that type of hate in their home. Nothing was ever achieved from the conversation, and I still did not know what the word meant or why it was such a big deal. Kids always called me names, but this time it was different. My mom normally told me to suck it up, but this time even her feelings were hurt.

On the car ride home, we were silent. Finally I had to ask, “Mom what does nigger mean?”

Her face broke when I asked her. She sat in silence and finally she spoke. She exhaled deeply, and started with…. “Baby you are black and they are white….”

Cicely

image credit: Kissa