Carefully Taught: The Lessons We Learn

**Carefully Taught: The Lessons We Learn**

The first time Liam heard the phrase *"people like that,"* he was six years old, sitting at the dinner table while his father scowled at the evening news. A protest flickered across the screen—people of different colors, holding signs, chanting words Liam didn’t understand.

*"They’re causing trouble again,"* his father muttered, stabbing his fork into his potatoes. *"People like that always want something for nothing."*

Liam didn’t ask who *"they"* were. He didn’t need to. The way his father said it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his mother nodded silently—told him all he needed to know. There was *us,* and there was *them.* And *them* was bad.

### **Lesson One: Fear the Different**

By fourth grade, Liam had learned the rules. When Malik, the new boy with dark skin and a bright laugh, joined their class, Liam avoided him. Not because Malik was mean—he was actually funny and shared his snacks—but because Liam’s friends wrinkled their noses when Malik spoke too loudly or answered too many questions in class.

*"He’s showing off,"* one of them whispered.

Liam nodded, though he wasn’t sure why.

### **Lesson Two: Laugh at the Weak**

Middle school was worse. The boys in his class had a new game: picking a target and making sure everyone else joined in. When Emily, a quiet girl with thick glasses, tripped in the hallway, they howled with laughter. Liam hesitated—she looked like she might cry—but then Jake elbowed him.

*"C’mon, don’t be weird,"* Jake said.

So Liam laughed too.

### **Lesson Three: Silence is Safety**

By high school, Liam had mastered the art of blending in. He knew when to nod, when to shrug, when to look the other way. When his history teacher talked about slavery, some kids groaned—*"Why do we have to keep talking about this?"*—and Liam stayed quiet. When a girl in his class came out as gay and the whispers started (*"That’s disgusting"*), he kept his head down.

It was easier that way.

### **The Unlearning**

Then came college.

His roommate, Carlos, was from a city Liam had only heard about in crime statistics. The first time Carlos’s family visited, they brought food—spicy, fragrant dishes Liam had never tried. They laughed loudly, hugged fiercely, and asked Liam questions about his life like they actually cared.

It confused him.

*"People like that"* weren’t supposed to be… kind.

Then there was Professor Ruiz, who taught sociology and didn’t let anyone get away with lazy answers. *"Why do you think that?"* she’d press whenever someone repeated something they’d heard at home. *"Where does that belief come from?"*

For the first time, Liam wondered.

### **The Breaking Point**

The news broke about another police shooting. Another Black man. Another wave of protests.

Liam’s family group chat erupted.

*"They’re just thugs looking for an excuse to riot,"* his uncle texted.

Liam stared at his phone. He thought of Carlos, who had talked about being pulled over for *"driving while brown."* He thought of Malik, who he’d ignored for no reason. He thought of all the times he’d stayed silent.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then, slowly, he typed:

*"What if we’re wrong?"*

The responses were immediate. *"Don’t be naive."* *"They’re playing the victim."*

But this time, Liam didn’t back down.

### **The New Lessons**

It wasn’t easy. Some friends stopped calling. His father accused him of *"betraying his family."* But for the first time, Liam was choosing what to believe—not just repeating what he’d been carefully taught.

He volunteered at a youth center. He read. He listened. And slowly, he realized:

Hate wasn’t born. It was taught.

And if it could be taught, it could be unlearned.

### **The Last Lesson**

Years later, Liam sat at another dinner table—this time with his own son, Noah, who was coloring a picture of his diverse class.

*"Papa, Jamal says his mom makes the best pancakes,"* Noah said. *"Can we try them sometime?"*

Liam smiled. *"Yeah, buddy. We can."*

And just like that, a new lesson began