Before I get any further, let me give a little background about myself. I am the product of a teenage pregnancy; however, my mom has consistently said she was estatic to learn she was pregnant. My parents got married when I was about 5 months old. They weren't the teen parents who, as most are often portrayed, got married out of desperation or a sense of duty. They really loved each other. My brother was born about a year later. No doubt there were some lean times, but we never really knew the stresses my parents were under. As an adult, I now can better understand my parents financial worries and fears, but as a child I was blissfully unaware of everything. I just remember being very loved and safe.

Fast forward several years. After high school I attended a private, liberal arts college where I graduated with a bachelor's in Liberal Arts. I've had the opportunity to be apart of some amazing things and hope to experience more. I consider myself to be an intelligent and well educated 26 year old black woman. My brother has been married for 3 years and they have a 2 year son and an 8 month old daughter. They are, without a doubt, the cutest kids you'll ever come across:)

Despite the less than ideal start, my parents overcame their poor pasts and successfully raised my brother and I in middle class America. We may not have had everything we wanted, but I can't recall not having the things we needed...love, clothing, food, protection, stability, and faith. I have led a very blessed life. Undoubtedly I, as everyone else, have been affected by the evil of this world, by the ability of the ones you love the most to hurt you the deepest, but when I consider where I could be, how my life could have played out, and thank God above for His deliverance and love.

I remember my first experience of racism as if it were yesterday. It's one of those things that leaves an indelible mark on your life. In this depraved world this occurrence is inevitable. I've wondered if there's some correlation between when and how this wound occurs to how jaded people become as adults. I'm not sure if there is a correlation. But I do know this wound was the first time I was made aware of my skin color.

Her name was Emily. She lived in our apartment complex and she was in my brother's pre-kindergarten class. I can still see in my mind's eye where we lived, where she lived, and where we were standing when it happened. I don't remember the circumstances of what brought it about, but I will never forget the 4 year old, who parroting her parents, said she wasn't allowed to play with little black boys. I remember standing there in confusion as to why she couldn't play with my brother. I will also never forget the following day when she came back to say she couldn't play with little black girls either. I don't remember what my mom told us after Emily's announcement, but I remember the confusion, the sadness, the internal questions of what was wrong with our skin, what was wrong with me.

There are numerous moments in a person's life that are burned into their psyche never to be purged. Hopefully most are joyful and happy. Some aren't. Some of my moments include the situation with Emily, the phone call saying my best friend had died, college graduation, the call to say my sister-in-law was pregnant, holding my nephew and niece for the first time. These are moments that have the ability to form you, but it's how you respond to them, I believe, that determines the outcome of who you are.

Although the situation with Emily was very confusing it never clouded my feelings of people, white or otherwise. Maybe it was the protection of young age that prevented me from fully grasping the gravity of the situation. Or that my family was close to other white families so it wasn't an issue of thinking everyone was like Emily's parents. I don't know. But I'll never forget that moment of innocence lost.