Once Upon a Time I was a Racist
Written by Na-eema Jacobs of South Africa
Once upon a time I was a racist. It was by no fault of my own, mind you. My parents constantly drilled the fact into me that "blacks " were inferior to us. The unfortunate thing was that I had never actually met a "black" person, and therefore all my opinions were influenced and sometimes even formed by my parents.
Our family was fairly well-off financially as my father was the C.E.O. of a major corporation; however, his company went bankrupt, and that resulted in the turning point of my formerly sheltered life. Because Father no longer earned what he used to, we were forced to move to a "lower class" neighborhood. That of course meant that I would be in close contact with "non- whites" and would have to attend a new, typically "non-white" school. I was extremely nervous on my first day at my new school. I dressed myself in the cheapest clothes that I owned so that I could fit in better with the poorer students.
When I arrived at the school, I slowly made my way up the stairs to the administration hall. I was so busy staring at the other students' clothing and realizing the fact that they barely even noticed me, that I tripped and fell face-flat on the floor. I was so embarrassed. I expected everyone to start laughing about 10 seconds after I fell, but I was pleasantly surprised. I felt a hand touching my shoulder, and someone said, "Are you okay?" There was no mistaking the genuine concern in this voice. I looked up and saw other hands picking up my books and handing them to Vusi - the boy who helped me up. He later became the best, most intelligent friend I ever had. I also found that so many people out there were being denied the perfect friendship that Vusi and I share because of their stupid paranoia with skin-color. Once upon a time I was a racist. No longer. Now I know better. Now I've found a real friend.