The bars of the playground shook as another kid climbed up to sit on the top. Twelve of us could fit on the top bars and if you were one of those twelve you were the cool kids for that recess. The sun was bright in that moment directly overhead and I squinted my eyes against the light. Gossip floated through the air as we all began to chat. I finally looked down at my pink watch and the digital number read 12:50. With only ten minutes of recess left we took turns jumping to the ground to enjoy the remaining time. I gripped the bars tightly and swung down. Sand flung up against my legs as my feet hit the sand covering the playground area. My two best friends and I linked arms as we walked slowly toward the school doors. The grass swished under our feet and a red ball bounced pass from the kids playing kick ball.

Sitting down on the sidewalk by the door we were refreshed by the cool of the cement from the shade. We talked for a few minutes and several more students came to wait by the doors. I looked up suddenly when I heard the distant yelling of a teacher. An angry sixth grader came walking up away from the teacher. The teacher followed and continued to talk angrily to the student. I saw his eyes flash as he snapped and turned around to face the teacher, he yelled back “you’re only mad at me because I’m black”. Everyone, including the teacher, was silent with shock. My heart pounded as tension surrounded me. The bell rang loudly but we sat still, tensely waiting to see what would happen. The teacher told us to get inside and we snapped out of our shock and quietly and quickly made our way inside the school.

I didn’t pay attention to our classes that afternoon. It seemed everyone was quiet, thinking about what had transpired. For me, this was the first time that I really recognized race. There were people of colour in our school, but I had never really been exposed to the concept of race until this moment. I began to see a darker side of the world when I realized that being treated differently because of the colour of your skin was a legitimate concern people of colour have to deal with. My heart hurt for my fellow schoolmates, not wishing that kind of judgement on anyone. The concept that I had white skin and others didn’t was something I had the privilege of not realizing for so long. I was able to maintain that “childhood innocence” for that long, but many of my classmates did not have that privilege. Our teachers gave all the older students a long talk about racism after hearing what many of us had witnessed. I still don’t know what the teacher was yelling at the student for, or if his claim was true.