As a child, I often heard the phrase, “You’ve been here before!” It was a puzzling statement at first, but over time, I understood its implications. I possessed knowledge that seemed to elude many of my peers, even those older than me. My questions often left adults bewildered; I could correctly use terms like “emaciated” by the age of seven, a word I felt was essential for someone aspiring to be a veterinarian. My interests ranged from programming televisions for relatives to training dogs, and I found joy in reading encyclopedias about Black history. For me, learning was synonymous with happiness.
My passion for knowledge made me slightly advanced, yet it also led to boredom. At home, I could quench my thirst for curiosity through books or by asking my mom or grandparents endless questions. In contrast, the school environment was starkly different.
In the classroom, the focus was on maintaining order and discipline. For Black and brown students, the message was clear: creative expression and freedom were not encouraged, as the world would likely strip those away in due time. We faced rigid schedules, limited bathroom breaks, and a strong expectation to conform.
My intelligence and curiosity, rather than being celebrated, often made me a target. Being “smart” was acceptable, as long as it fit within established norms. However, inquisitive children like me were seen as disruptions. I often found myself asking questions that drifted discussions off-topic—like, “Why do we have to line up in alphabetical order?”—which earned me annoyed glances and curt responses. My teachers viewed my curiosity as a challenge to authority, and I quickly became a statistic that needed correction.
In Texas during the late nineties, corporal punishment was a common practice, particularly in underfunded schools. I was frequently summoned to the principal’s office for talking too much. I can still vividly recall the paddle used on me—large and intimidating in my young mind, equipped with holes designed to maximize impact. The principal often delivered swats with an emotionless demeanor, perpetuating the idea that I was an inconvenience to be managed. I endured this punishment almost daily, receiving anywhere from four to ten swats until I became numb to the pain.
To the education system, I was just another Black youth deemed to be on a path to failure. In reality, I was simply an under-stimulated child. My experiences in kindergarten set a troubling precedent for my educational journey. My eagerness to engage in class discussions was often met with annoyance. I was familiar with the material but challenged the status quo, which infuriated some teachers and led to further punishment.
By second grade, I spent countless hours standing at the front of the class with my nose in a circle drawn on the chalkboard. One day, I stood there, listening to my classmates being instructed to ignore me as though I were invisible. At times, I was forced to hold books in an awkward position as punishment, a tactic meant to embarrass me into submission. While they succeeded to some extent, I internalized the message that I was incapable of success due to my background.
Elementary school was rife with paddling, time-outs, and behavior plans. I learned that I was not unique to teachers, but I didn’t fit in with my peers either. Lacking the structure that accompanied gifted programs, I never made it into one. Instead of continuing to engage, I began to withdraw from classroom participation.
My desire to disappear intensified as I faced bullying throughout fifth to eighth grade. In seventh grade history, I was fearful of speaking up because two girls routinely mocked me, dubbing me “N.H.” for no hair—reference to my short haircut. This contributed to my developing social anxiety, resulting in daily panic attacks that often left me sick before school.
By high school, I tried to cope with my internal struggles by seeking validation from boys. I stopped trying academically, and my grades plummeted. Each morning, I experienced paralyzing panic attacks, needing to mentally prepare to enter the school building.
I’m not alone in this experience; many children are conditioned by the educational system to believe they aren’t special. Now, at twenty-five, I often read about children facing similar challenges. Unfortunately, my own situation did not improve; I was expelled for getting into a fight while confronting an ex-boyfriend who spread rumors about me.
However, getting expelled turned out to be a blessing in disguise. A judge reviewed my academic record and reassured me that I was intelligent, directing me to take a community course designed for young women. Encouraged by his faith, I returned to school with renewed determination and finished my senior year in a more affluent district that treated me with respect. I regained control over my education and was even encouraged to pursue college.
With the support of one dedicated counselor and a conditional acceptance to college, I graduated cum laude, earning several dean’s list honors. Now, as a mother, I find myself anxious about my son’s future. At just two years old, he exhibits signs of curiosity reminiscent of my own, but I fear that, like me, he may be misunderstood. His exuberance—running, singing, and exploring—could easily be misinterpreted as defiance by the wrong person.
Watching him joyfully sing Moana, I feel a swell of emotion. I refuse to let the education system rob him of his enthusiasm for learning. I am determined to foster his individuality and creativity, actively seeking schools that embrace diverse learning styles and are committed to teaching without bias. If necessary, I will consider homeschooling to ensure he can express himself freely.
My son is fortunate to have a mother who understands the detrimental effects of an educational system that often overlooks the potential of children from marginalized backgrounds. The negative messages I received have lingered, causing me to grapple with imposter syndrome despite my accomplishments. I will do everything in my power to shield my son from the mistreatment that many youth of color endure in our educational institutions. He will never experience the humiliation of being punished for his eagerness to learn. My personal journey has ignited a passion for advocating for diversity in education and addressing the causes of achievement gaps. If I succeed, I hope to pave the way for a brighter future for many other children as well.
Summary
The author reflects on her tumultuous educational journey marked by institutional racism and personal challenges, ultimately vowing to protect her son from similar experiences. She emphasizes the importance of fostering individuality and creativity in children and advocates for a more inclusive educational system that values diversity.