Roderick Valentine

Posted Friday, March 22, 2024

1mo

ENTJ

Cancer

5

4

Keystone Elementary

It was a difficult time in my life, being 9 years old in a new state and school. My family had separated, I lost all my brothers and sisters. I was the only left to stay with my father, who was cold and abusive. He remarried shortly after to a very young women who was abusing me as well. He would beat me, she would lock me in closets or force me into ice baths or scalding hot showers. It wasn't a good time in my life, with zero support. Fourth grade was beginning and I didn't know what to expect. The school was centered around a 'project' community. It was all red brick apartments, a largely black community. The school building itself must have been 100 years old. Wood floors and brick walls. Desks that came out of Amish communities. I was the minority here. In my class there were only a couple of white and brown kids, the rest were black. This wasn't an issue with me, but apparently was an issue with them. I didn't even realize why it was happening, but everyday it happened. Pushed down and into lockers, backpack stolen, spitballs constantly hitting me, and even spitting directly on me. It was something I figured all kids were struggling and dealing with. It wasn't until about halfway through the school year, when I was in the bathroom alone and five of the chubbier black kids walked in. I didn't even have a chance to react. They grabbed me from behind and immediately slammed me into the ground, and started kicking me over and over. Yelling slurs like, cracker, milk-toast, white trash, redneck, etc... At one point they all stood on me and started jumping up and down. I passed out at this point, and woke up a few days later in the hospital. Fractured bones, concussion, and a few permanent scars. A month later I had to return to that school. I walked into my first period geography class and there they all were. Each one that attacked me, smirking and laughing at seeing me so injured. None of them were punished for what happened. The rest of the year they continued their attacks. Never as violent, but always as persistent. Finally fifth grade came and they built a new school and I never saw those kids again. Half a decade later I'm homeless, living on couches and staying with friends while attending school. Struggling and unable to feed myself most of the time, i end up meeting a friend for life. His name was Marcus, and we just clicked. We were always together playing games or having fun. His mother fell in love with me instantly and a year later she adopts me. I was raised for several years by the most loving and sweetest black woman I have ever met. She really helped me through tough times and I owe her and my brother Marcus a lot. The thing is, racism isn't defined by a race. It's the individual. Doesn't matter what color you are, it's your actions and behaviours that make you racist. You can tell a racist by them always bringing color up. Did they call you a stupid motherf*cker? Or did they say you were a stupid *race here* motherf* cker? Pay attention people, the racists are usually masquerading as the victims...