The sound of Music

“I could never date a black girl, her skin is just too dark for me”, “her kind will never be my type”.

In elementary school, I remember moving for the 5th time. I noticed all the little people with very pale skin, straight or wavy hair, and such colorful eyes. All faces turned to see the only little girl with deep dark brown eyes, smooth olive skin, with nicely textured thick hair as dark as the night sky. “Who is she?”, “what is she doing here?”, “I didn’t know blacks live here too?”

Attending a mostly white school in Palmyra showed me a lack of sympathy because if I didn’t become numb to it, a troubled child is what they called me. “Is your favorite food, fried chicken and watermelon with red kool aid as a drink?”, “Who do you think you are trying to correct me, stay in your place or you get to go to the principals''.

I remember the first day I fully realized I was completely different from everyone else. The teacher wanted us to draw a portrait of ourselves. As I had the outline of my portrait drawn, it was time to color. I remember picking up the peach crayon as a base for my face to create a lighter shade for when I used the color brown as my next color. A girl with blonde curly hair and cold blue piercing eyes snatched the peach crayon away before I could even start. “Your skin is brown, not peach silly”. It was so innocent, but hit so deeply. It didn’t occur to me that I was the only one in my class that needed that crayon.

It never bothered me until I got older and kids became more judgemental. I wanted to drown myself into an appearance that they believed to be American; I rejected my skin; I wanted to change or erase it. If that’s what it took to fit in, I was going to do it.

These interactions had a much greater impact than those with my parents. I felt segregated, how did everyone else have more opportunities in class then I did, why did the teachers dislike me so much? I just wanted to be accepted, to be considered what they called normal. Their words hurt, I began to doubt who I was. I wasn’t happy or proud of who I was.

I watched people like Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown. Their lives cut short because the color of their skin looked threatening. Sonia Sanchez, Tanya Parker, Valerie M. Street’s poetry exposed me to “post-racial” racism, reinforcing that my childhood belief system had been a lie. They exclaimed how we should've remained colorblind, how we should look at people of color and whites the same way, as equal, but it takes more than a small group out of the world to have that type of mindset. White privilege is what I had faced my entire life.

I rejected who I was and was influenced by who I had no choice but to surround myself with.

The difference came to me in music. When I listened to music it showed me a different world. It was a beautiful escape for my mind travel, and forget about the hardships I had to endure each day. I was able to connect with myself on a deeper level, and connect with people that had similar personalities, and beliefs, and at that moment, I wondered why my school and the people I had to surround myself with struggled with being this connected. Music helped me understand the uniqueness of being different and how to embrace it.

My experience with music while being in a mostly white community, taught me the importance of defending differences not as a negative, but as a positive. Their hatred taught me to be appreciative of my skin and has given me something to be passionate about. I have more of an understanding that I’m different but I’m still equal and accepted and that’s ok.