GRADE 1
Luckily, in Grade 2 I had Mrs. Horwood who adored me and took some of the ugly away. She called me her star pupil and was the first person to tell me I could sing. I helped her mark spelling tests and she gave me a solo in the choir that I was too shy to perform. Mrs. Horwood was astute and kind. She taught me valuable lessons, but so did Miss Lum.
I learned in Grade 1 that there were adults who believed they knew more about your life than you did simply by looking at your skin. There was one other black girl in my class named Yolanda, who was my friend. One day we were all sitting in a circle on the floor, going around the circle and sharing with each other one-by-one where we were born. When we got to Yolanda, she said she was born in England. Miss Lum furrowed her brow and stared, then said "I don't think that's possible."
Yolanda seemed utterly confused. So was I. She repeated that she was born in England, in London, as if hopeful that adding the city to her answer might make it more acceptable. Miss Lum coldly replied, "I doubt that."
My friend looked like she was going to burst into tears. The level of ignorance from the one grown-up in the room was astounding. This woman, who supposedly had a Bachelor of Education and was charged with shaping young minds, disdainfully informed a roomful of 6-year-olds that a black girl could not be from England and voided Yolanda's knowledge of her own entry into the world. I learned about racial negation that day in Grade 1.
My friend looked like she was going to burst into tears. The level of ignorance from the one grown-up in the room was astounding. This woman, who supposedly had a Bachelor of Education and was charged with shaping young minds, disdainfully informed a roomful of 6-year-olds that a black girl could not be from England and voided Yolanda's knowledge of her own entry into the world. I learned about racial negation that day in Grade 1.
I learned in Grade 1 that I had to be twice as smart as the white kids to be considered equally smart -- that that was what was necessary. Being AS smart as them meant being unimpressive. I learned that even when being twice as smart and therefore viewed as equally smart, that I'd still be ranked second. So I made it my business to be ready. I decided to be four times as smart -- so I'd be viewed as twice as smart -- and maybe that would put me on equal footing in her eyes. It didn't.
Grateful am I for the childlike innocence that kept me from realizing how sinister that whole "where we're from" game was. It was wasn't about genuinely discovering the myriad of backgrounds that existed in our class and fostering an appreciation for multiculturalism. It was information gathering on her part. She wanted to know which boxes to put us in. She was establishing our hierarchy.
I know that Miss Lum wanted me to fail. She had been informed by our principal that I was moving into her class after Christmas Break, this shy 5-year-old who'd been bored in Kindergarten and already reading and writing poetry. She had no choice. This new black child had entered her class and contradicted her misconceptions. Everyday I felt it, her unspoken wish that it would all soon prove too much for me.
Instead, I out-read, out-wrote and out-contemplated my non-black classmates who were a year older. I remember her refusing to praise me for anything, but praising them. I can't tell you much about her eyes because they avoided mine. She resented me. She resented the intellect of a 5-year-old child. I knew so much about having to be "twice as good" before I was 6 that by the time I came to understand that the same thing would often apply to being female, I was used to it. The truth of invalidation due to genetic happenstance was already part of my story and I was exhausted, but prepared.
The racist moments in my life, both early on and later, fortified me for the sexist ones. I know how messed-up things are when that's something I'm grateful for. But I am. In a sad, perverse, ironic way... I am.
Grateful am I for the childlike innocence that kept me from realizing how sinister that whole "where we're from" game was. It was wasn't about genuinely discovering the myriad of backgrounds that existed in our class and fostering an appreciation for multiculturalism. It was information gathering on her part. She wanted to know which boxes to put us in. She was establishing our hierarchy.
I know that Miss Lum wanted me to fail. She had been informed by our principal that I was moving into her class after Christmas Break, this shy 5-year-old who'd been bored in Kindergarten and already reading and writing poetry. She had no choice. This new black child had entered her class and contradicted her misconceptions. Everyday I felt it, her unspoken wish that it would all soon prove too much for me.
Instead, I out-read, out-wrote and out-contemplated my non-black classmates who were a year older. I remember her refusing to praise me for anything, but praising them. I can't tell you much about her eyes because they avoided mine. She resented me. She resented the intellect of a 5-year-old child. I knew so much about having to be "twice as good" before I was 6 that by the time I came to understand that the same thing would often apply to being female, I was used to it. The truth of invalidation due to genetic happenstance was already part of my story and I was exhausted, but prepared.
The racist moments in my life, both early on and later, fortified me for the sexist ones. I know how messed-up things are when that's something I'm grateful for. But I am. In a sad, perverse, ironic way... I am.
I guess maybe I should thank Miss Lum. I learned more than I realized, back in Grade One.
TT.
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