By Ty Ross

When I was a child, my family lived in a predominantly black community, and it was also my first experiences with racism. I know you may be wondering how one can experience racism within their own community, from their own race. But it can and does happen. More often than many of us want to admit.

I lived in a low-income neighborhood but lacked for nothing. My family’s stress on education and enrolling me in things like ballet, swim lessons and tap classes separated me from the other kids in the community who spent their days hanging out and playing in the neighborhood. Many of them and their parents having what I call a ‘slave mentality’. Going along to get along and being content to just be getting by. I had plenty of support in the home, but once I stepped outside it was a different story. My attempts to make friends or make bonds with those whom I shared a playground and school bus with was met with ostracizing, bullying and physical altercations. Yes, I lived there too, but I wasn’t seen as one of them. They would make fun of the way I talked, and said I wanted to be white. I never understood what they meant. Every time I looked down at my skin, I was reminded that yes, I was indeed black. So what did that mean?