Growing up as a biracial child never came across to me as being wrong. I have always been able to fit in with others and people seemed to like me for my personality rather than my looks. When I entered high school though, all this negative energy started leaning towards me because I was half black.
The first situation that I recall where being biracial effected me was while Leah, my best friend, and I were walking home. It had been a long day at school and suddenly we were stopped by a huge blue Blazer. A short light skinned man in his early forties jumped out of the SUV in rage claiming that both Leah and I were not suppose to be seen together. I was perplexed, and not quite understand why. He explained to me that niggers are suppose to stay with their own race. The man pulled Leah into the Blazer and sped off. I became extremely confused. How could someone dislike me because of my skin tone to the extent that he would not allow his daughter to be seen with me? I went home crying to my mother. I had never been rejected so boldly in my life. My fairy tale world was fading in front of my eyes and there was nothing I could do about it. I sobbed for weeks knowing that a good friend's parent hated me without even giving me a chance.
The second incident that effected me occurred in early August. Three of my friends; Sunshine, Britny, Kelly, and I decided to spend our evening at the town carnival. Cotton candy, popcorn, candy apples, pit ham, and "all you can ride" rides for a night, how exciting. Shortly after stuffing our faces with greasy, over cooked ham, we ran into Sunshine's father. Sunshine introduced us and we began talking about what rides we had risked our lives on earlier that evening. Suddenly, a short white boy with brown hair walks up to me and explains that his friend thinks I am cute. He was a little dark skinned boy at 16 years of age. Sunshine's father quickly yells out "he's a nigger.