Understanding the Impact of My Race on My Learning
By Ilana L. Johnson
EDI 600 Psychological Foundation of Education
School of Education
Long Island University, C. W. Post
May 21, 2009
I honestly believe that I do not define my race; rather, my race defines me. This encompasses everything, from the earrings I wear – big, bright, and colorful, a tribal throwback to my African foremothers - to the music I listen to – the soul-stirring, bass-grooving, funky-drumming classic rhythm and blues.
I became aware of my race from the very start of my childhood, listening to stories my grandfather told me coming of age in the segregated South during the early 1900's. Even though he spoke of the most horrible experiences, such as rocks being thrown at his head daily by white children on the bus while he walked three miles to the nearest “colored” school, I felt proud to have a grandfather who had not allowed himself to become mentally oppressed because he was black living in a time and place when and where Jim Crow reigned supreme.
I also became aware of my race during the first few years of elementary school. My mother, a former educator, taught for thirty-three years at PS 90 in Richmond Hill, where I attended grades kindergarten through third grade. For those four years, I was the only black child in each grade and my other classmates never let me forget it. Needless to say, I believe this experience, although hard on my young spirit and psyche, taught me tolerance and made me the strong, vibrant woman today.
Long Island University, C. W. Post
May 21, 2009
I honestly believe that I do not define my race; rather, my race defines me. This encompasses everything, from the earrings I wear – big, bright, and colorful, a tribal throwback to my African foremothers - to the music I listen to – the soul-stirring, bass-grooving, funky-drumming classic rhythm and blues.
I became aware of my race from the very start of my childhood, listening to stories my grandfather told me coming of age in the segregated South during the early 1900's. Even though he spoke of the most horrible experiences, such as rocks being thrown at his head daily by white children on the bus while he walked three miles to the nearest “colored” school, I felt proud to have a grandfather who had not allowed himself to become mentally oppressed because he was black living in a time and place when and where Jim Crow reigned supreme.
I also became aware of my race during the first few years of elementary school. My mother, a former educator, taught for thirty-three years at PS 90 in Richmond Hill, where I attended grades kindergarten through third grade. For those four years, I was the only black child in each grade and my other classmates never let me forget it. Needless to say, I believe this experience, although hard on my young spirit and psyche, taught me tolerance and made me the strong, vibrant woman today.
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