To All the Colleges That May Never Get a Chance to Reject Me: From the Poor Black Kid With Two Moms

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This morning, I woke up, and I was grateful to do so. Earlier this week, my childhood friend Bob was shot down and killed by a stray bullet. As I walked to the city bus stop this morning, I prayed that I would make it there safely, free from being the unintended victim of gang violence (and ready to focus on an education that often makes my ancestors’ existence and contributions invisible and, at times, seems to hold no relevance to the realities of my life). After my city bus arrived at my magnet school in a nearly all-white suburb, two police officers stopped me once again for questioning because I looked “suspicious.” As I was being questioned for being black in a predominantly white neighborhood, I began to think of how I — no, we all — had been lied to over the years.

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