It was well lit with k5 scribbles all around the walls. Big numbers from one to ten filled our classroom with an educational environment. Ms. Ruffing told us to get in a circle on the carpet. “Today you’re going to make a self-portrait,” she explained, “I will be going around with different colored paint to pick for your skin color.” I whispered in my friends ear how fun this was going to be. As Ms. Ruffing was getting closer to me I was already picturing how I would draw myself with my long dark brown hair and big brown eyes. She was standing right in front of me. “Julianna pick a color.” I was searching the box filled with colors from peach to brown to black. I reached for the peach paint, but, as soon as I gripped my hands on it, Ms. Ruffing stopped me and barked, “You’re not white, you’re brown.” As I slowly drew my hand back from the peach paint, my five year old self was oblivious to what she had meant and made me realize that we are seen as color and not as people which was not the way I was taught. I was taught to accept everyone for who they are and to not even think about the color of their skin and let that change your perspective of how you view them as a person because what really matters was what they had inside of them. That’s when I embarrassingly reached for the brown paint.

I went back to my seat with my brown paint in my hands. I looked around the room, observing everyone and what they looked like, how they acted, etc. Mostly everyone in the class had blond hair, blue eyes, and white skin--typical. But then there was me. Brown hair, brown eyes, and brown skin. I was different. That’s when I realized that I was the only non-white kid in the class. I started to feel singled out.

I was only five years old so I didn’t really have much feelings toward all of this. All I felt was confusion and sadness to no longer feel like I belong. I questioned why I was dark and they were not. I’d wonder if it was bad to be the color brown or any other colors that weren’t white. I felt as if I was the only blue person filled in a world full of yellow people.

As soon as I got home, I told my mother what happened that day.

“Mom?” I curiously said.

“Yes, Thaiz?” She responded. Thaiz is my middle name that only my mom calls me.

“Is it bad that I’m brown and not white?” I shyly asked.

From there she explained to me that it was wrong for my teacher to say that to me and explained what racism was. Before any of this happened, I didn’t know what it was. This day was the first time I ever heard of the word “racism”. She gave me a long speech of how ignorant people are and racism does exist to this day. In that day, I learned that racism is taught by adults that we look up to, to innocent kids who don’t even think that way yet and accept everyone for who they are regardless of their skin color.

I didn’t know then, what I know now. I didn’t know brown skin and brown eyes derive from the first humans of the Earth. I didn’t know people like me, who looked like me who shared this same rich brown skin were queens and rulers of some of the most advanced civilizations of the world. The world! I didn’t know but I know now. I know my freedoms of expressions. I see a multitude of colors, I am all the colors. She didn’t know that but I know that now. I am beautiful. The brown paint is beautiful.