Storm Johnson
If I had to choose between growing up in the ghetto in total poverty, where I probably wouldn’t finish school, or go through this white-bred school, the choice is obvious. However, it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with the racism of these rich kids and rednecks here. Even though my dad is a doctor and my mother is a lawyer, I still get referred to as the ‘poor nigger.’ My family is practically the Huxtables. We have more money than most of the people who pull their bags closer or lock their doors when they seem me in the parking lot. It was hard to deal with at first, when kids who were my friends in grade school suddenly started to believe that their skin made them better. The same kids who used to swim in my pool all summer long started lining up and throwing rocks. The same kids whose houses I used to sleep over at were suddenly telling me I should be lynched. I guess you get used to it though. I guess you have to.
It was a mixed blessing when Jalliel White transferred school here. Before, I was the only black kid in the school, so now he catches some of the flak. He usually gets picked on more than me, because he acts more like the stereotype. However, I get shit from him as well, because he claims I ‘act too white.’ He’s all about African culture, and being against the white man. He’s never even been to Africa though. We talked about it once, back when he still thought that we needed to have some bond between us. He hasn’t even been out of this area! I may have lived here all my life too, but at least I’ve traveled around with my family some. I’ve at least seen some of the world.
The real reason that he hates me, of course, is because of my family’s money. He gets bussed here because he was kicked out of every other school in the area. His father, who isn’t married to his mother, is in jail. I think his mother is on welfare, but I don’t know. One time, he asked me if I wanted to come over and ‘smoke a blunt,’ but I refused. He calls me ‘Urkel’ now.
I go up to the cafeteria, where I used to sit with John Parker, but he recently decided he was a racist. He referred to me as “One of the good ones,” but I still don’t want to deal with that shit. Now, I just sit alone and do my homework. He hangs out more with his sports buddies, like Warren Boyd. If I had to pick out the one person who has given me the hardest time here, it’s Warren Boyd. Warren has been a racist for as long as I can remember, even before the other kids knew what hatred was. His parents made sure he knew.
In elementary school, Warren carried a miniature baseball bats he called his “nigger-knocker.” He knew what that word meant before I did. His locker is four down from mine, and he has a giant rebel flag hanging in it. If I’m at my locker while he’s at his, he just glares at me. Sometimes, late at night, he would drive his pick-up truck past my house very slowly. None of this even compares to the fights.
We don’t have normal fights, he finds me somewhere alone and attacks me. Sometimes, I actually think he’s going to kill me. This is the kind of person John wants to be friends with now.
Jewel Peterson, one of the girls John told me he fucked, walks by and waves.
Follow Kyle Fanningdale.
If I had to choose between growing up in the ghetto in total poverty, where I probably wouldn’t finish school, or go through this white-bred school, the choice is obvious. However, it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with the racism of these rich kids and rednecks here. Even though my dad is a doctor and my mother is a lawyer, I still get referred to as the ‘poor nigger.’ My family is practically the Huxtables. We have more money than most of the people who pull their bags closer or lock their doors when they seem me in the parking lot. It was hard to deal with at first, when kids who were my friends in grade school suddenly started to believe that their skin made them better. The same kids who used to swim in my pool all summer long started lining up and throwing rocks. The same kids whose houses I used to sleep over at were suddenly telling me I should be lynched. I guess you get used to it though. I guess you have to.
It was a mixed blessing when Jalliel White transferred school here. Before, I was the only black kid in the school, so now he catches some of the flak. He usually gets picked on more than me, because he acts more like the stereotype. However, I get shit from him as well, because he claims I ‘act too white.’ He’s all about African culture, and being against the white man. He’s never even been to Africa though. We talked about it once, back when he still thought that we needed to have some bond between us. He hasn’t even been out of this area! I may have lived here all my life too, but at least I’ve traveled around with my family some. I’ve at least seen some of the world.
The real reason that he hates me, of course, is because of my family’s money. He gets bussed here because he was kicked out of every other school in the area. His father, who isn’t married to his mother, is in jail. I think his mother is on welfare, but I don’t know. One time, he asked me if I wanted to come over and ‘smoke a blunt,’ but I refused. He calls me ‘Urkel’ now.
I go up to the cafeteria, where I used to sit with John Parker, but he recently decided he was a racist. He referred to me as “One of the good ones,” but I still don’t want to deal with that shit. Now, I just sit alone and do my homework. He hangs out more with his sports buddies, like Warren Boyd. If I had to pick out the one person who has given me the hardest time here, it’s Warren Boyd. Warren has been a racist for as long as I can remember, even before the other kids knew what hatred was. His parents made sure he knew.
In elementary school, Warren carried a miniature baseball bats he called his “nigger-knocker.” He knew what that word meant before I did. His locker is four down from mine, and he has a giant rebel flag hanging in it. If I’m at my locker while he’s at his, he just glares at me. Sometimes, late at night, he would drive his pick-up truck past my house very slowly. None of this even compares to the fights.
We don’t have normal fights, he finds me somewhere alone and attacks me. Sometimes, I actually think he’s going to kill me. This is the kind of person John wants to be friends with now.
Jewel Peterson, one of the girls John told me he fucked, walks by and waves.
Follow Kyle Fanningdale.
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