Personal Narrative: My Experience As A Racist

I have grown up in a predominately white neighborhood. This town is called Anacortes in Washington state and I have lived here my whole life. My mother is mexican and my father is black. I grew up thinking that I was slightly different from everyone else but not really looking at it in a negative manner. Racism didn’t seem like a big deal because i have never personally had to deal with it and it still seems like a far off idea, one that is there but not connected to me. My father works for the Anacortes Police Department where he is a detective but used to do patrols around the city. Sometimes he would tell me stories about when he would arrest people and they would use derogatory terms just based off the color of his skin. He never seemed to be that bothered by these happenings, he just blamed it on them being drunk or an idiot. He also told my brothers and I about the time he spent in the Navy and how people would throw the “N” word around like it wasn’t offensive and didn’t matter. He also mentioned how people would often think les of him based off the simple fact that he was not white. He never let it affect him
I told her the schools and for some reason one school stuck out in her head the most. She claimed that this school was in a “racist place”. I, myself was not aware of this but for a brief moment I thought “does it matter?” And then the more I thought about it the more I understood, it does matter. I am not white, never have been and never will be. She was genuinely afraid of the things that may be said to me or the way I may be treated based purely on the fact that I am not white. The fact that I have not had to deal with racism thus far in my life is a blessing. I have not grown to hate myself because of the color of my skin and I have never had a hateful name tossed at me. I have not had to deal with the oppression that some people my age