I’ve always had a natural inclination towards hospitality, so I introduced myself and initiated conversation with some girls on the first day of camp, but I only received terse one -word answers and the feeling that they didn’t want to be bothered. That evening in the dining hall I could hardly eat, for I feared that I might further contribute to the apparent comic show I had begun. I could feel ten pairs of eyes burning through me. My heart beat as fast as the blinks of their eyes. Before dessert had even been offered, I heard the word “Oreo,” and knew immediately that they were not referring to the cookie by Nabisco because of the incessant snickering that I heard among their conversations. Oreo, the black-on-the-outside, white-on-the-inside, cookie is often used as a metaphor to describe some African-Americans. I’d been deemed this appellation before for various reasons. I was curious to hear one more, but not that evening. I had had enough for only the first night.

Yes, I had known that this camp had been designed for African-Americans, but I had not known about the surly attitudes that I’d have to tolerate. Since age two, when I began school, I’ve attended predominantly Caucasian-American schools, but my church consists of mostly African-Americans. I’ve always believed that it’s important to have a diverse group of friends to expose myself to different cultures and beliefs. Most of the time I could fit in with anyone just fine; now I was unsure.

It was about ten o’clock, an hour away from our “bed time,” and I was about three –fourths through a very engaging novel; I let them all in nonetheless. Some sat on the beds, some went through my clothes, and some played with my hair. It took all of thirty seconds for the questions to begin rolling.
“What is you reading?” one girl asked.
“A novel,” I responded.
“Oh, for yo school?” she asked.
“Nope, I just love to read,” I responded.
“Why, if it ain’t for school?” she asked.
I guess doing beyond what’s required of a student wasn’t the “cool thing.”
“Reading is a way I relax,” I replied.
It wasn’t so much the fact that I was reading a book as it was the fact that I liked to read in my free time as opposed to doing something more “black” like listening to rap music that posed as the problem. Apparently that wasn’t the right answer because another girl asked the question I receive far too often.
“How come you act white?” she asked.
This was going to be interesting I thought; I knew this question had been coming, and I was more than ready to respond.
“What do you mean ‘act white’”? This question had always perplexed me since I found it to be ridiculous that a person could be pinned as acting like a particular race. “Well the words you be using and stuff, and the clothes you be wearing, you just act white,” she responded
“Do you realize how incredibly racist that statement is? Why do I have to be acting white because I choose not to use slang but instead proper English? I don’t ‘act white’ I act like an educated human being,” I quickly replied in defense.
“You be using words and acting all smart like Andrew,” another girl stated. Andrew was the sole Caucasian-American attending the camp. Like myself, he chose to use proper English when he spoke.
The girls held these racist stereotypes that I was determined to alter. I said to them that if they continued to hold such beliefs their cultural exposure would never progress. That took care of the “words I be using.” Now, I had to address the “clothes I be wearing.”

As to my clothes she was referring to, I had on a pink polo shirt and a jean skirt from the GAP. I knew that I probably would have been more easily accepted if I had worn a pair of Baby Phat Jeans, or a Rocawear jersey dress with my hair braided, to prove my “blackness,” but I chose not be like everyone else. I chose to wear my naturally long wavy hair down and to dress how I desired.

I told them that one doesn’t have to be like everyone else, dress like everyone else, or talk like them. They were surprised that I viewed the fact that I don’t act like the stereotypical black teenager as my uniqueness.

The conversation that evening broke the ice between the other girls and me. I knew that they actually considered everything I’d said because they told me in their own words that they didn’t intend to marginalize me and make me feel uncomfortable, but they could tell that something was different about me--a difference they had previously evaluated as negative, but that I was determined from that moment on to be viewed as positive. By the end of the week, we had exchanged phone numbers, email addresses, and street addresses. One girl even borrowed a novel I had brought with me. Another girl even gave me a new appellation: “smart girl.” I ended up forming some great friendships and even changed some girls’ perspectives of race while I was at it.

I believe that I stood out to these girls because of my determination and motivation to succeed while remaining unfazed by what my peers may be doing. While it pleased me that I could change their opinions, it upset me very much to see these girls associate opportunity and success only with being white. I think about the long battle Martin Luther King, Jr. fought to achieve civil rights for people. I believe that, in fact, we live in a nation today where people aren’t judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their characters. Strong, determined people break the racist stereotypes of the past every day. We live in a nation today where people can do whatever they want to do with their lives and become whatever they desire to become if they are willing to meet the intellectual requirements of their destiny and society. Even if I can only change one person’s perspective at a time, I won’t stop doing so until everyone believes in opportunity.

Patrice is a junior in high school and plans to be a doctor.

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