Author: Julie Bartoshewski (Page 2 of 2)

“YESSS!!” my team mate shouted as we knocked another pin down. I could feel the air rush past as the dodge balls flew by. Our team only had to knock down one more pin and we would win the best out of three games of dodgeball. We concentrated on knocking out the remaining guards on the other side. Red, orange, and purple balls tore through the air and my team mates and I grabbed at them to hurl back. Finally, someone got into the right angle to throw and the pin toppled behind the last two guards. Cheers from the team mates who were “out” filled the gym. The teacher blew his whistle and we began cleaning up. Good hearted jokes were made between friends as we all filled the packed storage room putting away the equipment. With a booming voice our gym teacher called as to gather around. With breathless smiles on our faces, we sat down on the floor, enjoying the rest as the ceiling fans cooled down the afternoon summer heat. He discussed with us how next period there would be a presentation/assembly in the gym and our great moods on a Friday afternoon increased as we realized we got to miss math. The rumble of our voices grew as we all turned to our friends excited about this good news. Smiling, our gym teacher quieted us down. The ten minute clean up bell rang out. He then informed us that we need to start setting up the chairs. We all rose and began walking over to the stage, under which the chairs were stored. Then we heard him say “just the boys. Girls you can go change”. We girls turned around surprised and exclaimed that we could help set up to. He gave us a pity smile that seemed to say “ya right” and told us “no, go change”. Tension filled the air as we all looked around at one another with fiery eyes and walked off to the girls change room. As soon as the door had closed our voices raised as we expressed our anger at this. There was around 250 chairs to set up and only about 11 boys. If we had been allowed to help, we could’ve set up for the assembly way faster. This treatment by the gym teacher we would later learn was a common thing and he only ever chose boys to help with heavy lifting around the school, even with plenty of girl hands up to volunteer their help. Our school was very sports driven and we had been keeping up with the boys completely fine for years. Yet we get told that because we’re girls we can’t lift and place plastic chairs in rows. There was not a single one of us who didn’t feel angered and bewildered by this treatment. Afterwards, the boys were not pleased about us not having to help out either. Two years later when we had a new gym teacher, every single girl picked up as many chairs at a time as they could possibly handle, trying to match and even show up the boys. Although that gym teacher wasn’t there, we all wanted to challenge his notion anyway. This continued throughout all of high school, and the boys could never complain about doing all the work again.

“Come on Mom I don’t want to be late for the party”. I was jumping around excitedly at the back door. A bright pink birthday present was in one hand and the other rested on the door knob anxiously waiting to open it and run out to the vehicle. My mom slowly made her way downstairs in an unrushed manner that was totally bizarre to my energy rushed young mind. As soon as her shoes were on, I flew out the door, runners tapping as they hit the sidewalk. I gave a heave as I slid open the heavy blue-green van door and the wrapping paper concealing the present rustled as I swung it onto the grey seat. Snap went the seatbelt into place and I clapped my hands in an excited anticipation as we pulled out of the driveway. I watched the familiar streets pass by as we headed across town. The same manners/politeness talk sounded from my mom in the driver’s seat as we grew closer to my friend’s house. The biggest smile spread across my face as the van parked on the side of the street and I saw other girls in my class arriving at the same time. My friends and I grabbed hands and danced around in the street as our parents briefly talked. Confidently walking up to the door, we knocked with two raps of our small fists. The birthday girl’s mom invited us in and took our birthday gifts for us as we left our shoes at the door. We each hugged the birthday girl and started playing with some toys as the last guests arrived. Then, the birthday girl’s mom announced that we could head to the back yard to play before the birthday games started. Twelve girls sat on the floor putting our shoes on, each declaring that we would win pin the tail on the donkey. Outside, we took turns on the swing set and talked. Some of the girls began discussing their newly bought designer jeans. They were the current big trend and each one started to show theirs off and “model” as they pretended the grass in front of us was a cat walk. My best friend and I looked at each other in our faded old blue jeans and then turned our eyes to stare at the ground. We both knew our parents could never afford to buy us such expensive pairs of jeans. Since we didn’t have any, we knew the girls would never let us have a turn modelling. Even if we did have a turn, we wouldn’t want to risk the mean comments about not having the designer jeans. Later at the party we made jokes to each other that we didn’t want the silly jeans either and that all those rhinestones on the pockets must make sitting a lot more uncomfortable. We continued our afternoon feeling happy together about our own outfits and with more confidence after being declared the winners of the two pin the tail on the donkey games. Cause who cares about designer jeans when you win a candy bag!

Your white privilege doesn’t just simply go away by not acting racist. People are so quick to prove they’re not racist because of how “bad” that is, yet they completely ignore or disregard systemic racism in our country and government. The white privilege one holds is evident immediately with the ability to say Canada has no systemic racism. It is there, you just have the white privilege in not seeing it because you aren’t affected by it. People of colour face systemic racism in their daily lives. Becoming educated on one’s white privilege and systemic racism is key to having all people in our society work together to rid the discrimination and inequality in a country that is untruly known as being completely equal to all peoples, regardless of race.

            When discussing white fragility, we can see people’s uncomfortableness to talk about race in our society. People often don’t want to believe that these aspects are so prevalent even in todays world. Ignoring the issue because it’s uncomfortable to talk about is not helping anyone so these uncomfortable conversations need to be had. For people of colour, there is no doubt about systemic racism in their society because it is very evident in their lives.

            The “bad apple” theory shows racism as an individual thing. It claims that racism only exists in todays society because of a few bad people. This belief tries to reduce the strength that racism and racist tendencies actually hold on all aspects of our life.

Whiteness is a racial construct article – https://spon.ca/whiteness-is-a-racial-construct-its-time-to-take-it-apart/2016/10/11/

            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.

Flashes of red and white could be seen through the glaring sunlight. We all patiently waited along the street as the elementary school kids rushed through the fence to join us. I smiled as my young dance students jumped around me, buzzing with excitement, before we set off on the path. Although this was a familiar routine, the pride emanating from the crowd was as strong as always, year after year. Proud to be Canadian, proud to be raising money for a good cause, and proud to be carrying on a legacy. It was time for the Terry Fox walk.

            As my friends and I took the small hands of the younger students, we headed up the steep hill.  The loud buzzing of the golf cart flew by us, its attached Canadian flags rippling in the wind. I felt a small and eager tug on my arm as the student holding my right hand proudly showed me her fake red maple leaf tattoo on her cheek. As we reached the park at the tip top of the hill, clapping and cheering rang out from the smiling faces of those who had come to show support. The thick leaves of the trees hanging over the path gave us some appreciated shade from the hot, late summer sun. Little legs rushed to keep up with the big ones, and I reflected on how long the walk used to seem when I too was young. A moment of nerves greeted me as it always has as 400 of us crossed the old bridge over the coolie. The clang of the metal filled the air with each footstep. As the crowd of us reached the nursing home we all cheered and waved at the residents waiting outside to greet us. Sadness hit my heart for a moment as I remembered how excited my great-grandmother used to be as I would race up to her from the crowd and give her a hug and a kiss. The residents waved their small Canadian flags through the air and I thought about how the pride in our country shone brightly in the faces of both the oldest and the youngest for our beautiful land of the true north strong and free. Finally, on the last section of our walk around town, main street and it’s towering old buildings we had seen countless times throughout our lives came into view. The police had blocked off traffic on the street so all of us could walk safely along the middle of it. Any sign of the hot and tiredness we all felt blew away like the prairie wind as the town cheered at our arrival. Stores completely cleared out as everyone rushed to the sidewalks to see us. Smiles widened seeing all the familiar faces of our small town gathered together. Heads held high, we all waved excitedly as we saw our own families gazing proudly at us.

            The reality of it being my last year of getting to walk for Terry and for Canada hit hard then. However, as I looked at the joyful youth surrounding me, I promised myself that I would always come cheer them on from the sidelines as my beloved town had always done for me. As we reached the elementary school to drop the young ones off, their arms wrapped around me in a farewell hug. They ran off and my friends and I all watched them go, seeing our younger selves in them. I knew my feelings were reflected in all of our minds as we slowly walked back to our high school, with our childhood now behind us and our future and the future of our country in front of us.