Growing up as the only black male in a class of 300 students.

A reflection on small-town racism.

I still remember, clear as day, when my guidance counselor was preparing me to graduate high school.

She said,

Congratulations, you are the only black male in this year’s graduating class! That means you will get first dibs on the following scholarships…

I guess you could say that this was an emotionally charged event in my life because of how clear I remember it. We only remember the things that impact us the most.

I remember the first time I realized that I was different than the other kids that went to my school.

In kindergarten, it was common to do the “arm test”. Let’s hold our arms next to each other to see how much darker Miguel is than “enter name here”.

By 4th grade, I was playing competitive sports. Everyone knew I was going to be better than my peers at sports, I was black!

I was faster, quicker and I could jump higher because it was scientifically proven that I had an extra muscle. Or at least that is what people in my class told me…that their parents told them.

By 5th grade, I left Catholic school and went to public school. My new friends were using the internet, learning about the world, watching big kid movies…and of course…wondering why I wasn’t as black as the people they saw on TV.

It was common for my peers to say…

“You are the whitest black kid I know.”

Or…

“Why do you talk so white?”

By middle school, I wanted nothing to do with being black. As we all know, middle school is one of the most self-conscious times of our life. We are trying to fit in with our peers. While everyone is dealing with something, I was dealing with being black.

It was in middle school that I was called a nigger for the first time to my face. Other students heard it, and it was the talk of the school for the day.

The question I got from everyone was “aren’t you going to beat him up?”

I guess for the 6th grade class at Sante Fe Middle School, it was common knowledge that black people beat up white people who call them the n-word.

Me, being a kid trying to gain acceptance from my peers, decided that I MUST kick the kid's ass.

I guess I must have been intimidating because the kid told on himself to our gym teacher, who told the school police…who then came and got me out of gym class to discuss.

I cried in the bathroom that day.

By high school, I had positioned myself as a “popular kid”. There were other black kids at the high school who were also popular, and older, although I could count them on one hand.

I began leveraging my blackness to mask my insecurities.

Tall T’s, flat bills, fake diamond chains…and of course rapping!

I began questioning the friendships I had around this time because Xbox Live had become popular…and I realized all my white “friends” loved using racist names to put others down online.

Then…Barack Obama was elected president.

Out of all the racist comments I experienced at that time, the one that stuck with me most was when someone I considered a friend at the time said…

“He’ll probably be assassinated.”

After talking with my wife (a white woman) about what is happening in the world today, I realized that I was so black growing up that everyone forgot that I was half Mexican. Lol.

While at the time, I hated every one of these experiences. They have made me into the man I am today. I wanted to be smart, I wanted to achieve, I wanted to do more than sports because well…I wanted to shut everyone up.

My parents did a great job educating us on the real world when we were growing up. They were very aware of the racism in our town as they had experienced it first hand themselves. They told us it would be harder for us than for the other children. They prepared us to be strong.

10 years ago I graduated as the only black male in my class. I experienced racism my entire life. Although I acted like it didn’t affect me, it did. Obviously, as I can remember all of these events so clearly today.

Although you may never know what it is like to be a black man in a white town, I hope that this story can help you relate because at the end of the day…we all have something that was a problem for us growing up. Mine was being black.