I am a thirteen-year-old black girl and my name is Helen. I have never had the good fortunate of having a black friend; boy or girl. Why? One might ask how I was placed in this unfortunate situation. My story takes place in a big city. This sentence sounds like something from a mystery book which I enjoy reading. When I think about the hallways of my school, I see white sails quietly moving down the hall. These sails are the people in my school.

Until last year I didn’t think about the fact that nearly everyone in my school is white. In fourth grade I began to think about being one of two or three black kids in my school. I am not sure why it took me such a long time to realize this. My mom never mentioned it. Usually when something makes my mom uncomfortable or she is unsure that she is doing the right thing she doesn’t talk about the situation. I wonder. I am on my schools’ hockey team. Last year we had a winning season. My coach tells me that this winning had a lot to do with me. I wonder if they only like me because I helped the team win.

I try hard to ignore the kids in my school who call me a black nerd. Being called this hurts my feelings and my teammates laugh about it. They say it is only a joke. I feel bad about the treatment that I receive from the teachers. I feel that they don’t care about me. I feel ignored and unprotected. Why do they let this name calling go on? My mother didn’t talk to me about my problems at school.

One day she said we are leaving this school. I was happy and sad at the same time. I had gone to this school for a long time and I enjoyed playing on the hockey team. I wouldn’t say that I had a lot of friends. I did have a few but, mostly I felt alone during the school day. My mom took me and my three brothers to a school with all black children. I was afraid of these new kids. Would they beat me up, steal my money and talk ghetto talk? I was sure they wouldn’t be like me. I was polite, rarely ever talked back, never used swear words and my hair was neat.

The new children were amazing and they treated me kindly. They were happy to be black and had beautiful hair styles. This was a first for me. I realized after many weeks that at my old school I wasn’t excited and happy to be a black person. Another thing I realized was that I had a lot to learn about being a black girl. This new school makes me feel like a top rate person. In one of my classes my teacher said, Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud.