A Back to School Story on Anti-Racism

Somewhere right now, a Black girl is getting her hair braided the night before the first day of school. She’s sitting between someone’s knees, wincing a little at the parts, already rehearsing who she’s going to be in that classroom.

I know because I was her.

I remember the scratchy tip of my braid grazing my neck as we walked through the entrance of the school building. The day before, I got my very first set of “dookie braids.” They were styled in a high ponytail, and the burnt ends of the braids fell just at the nape of my neck. I didn’t mind the little itch because I was too busy reveling in my new hairstyle that made me feel like Brandy. “‘Cause I’m your sister, and always for ya…” Her song was on a loop in my head as I sat down at my desk in the classroom.

​Subscribe​

My mother sat in front of the teacher’s desk to speak to her. This was the first parent-teacher conference of the school year. I was the newest addition to the 4th grade class. I had been excelling in my schoolwork — but staying under the teacher’s radar? Not so much.

I sat at my desk doodling in the journal I always carried around as I heard the teacher say, “I’ve noticed Chanel might think she’s better than the other students.” The song stopped in my head. “She acts like she’s too good to take tests,” she continued. “She’s getting 100% on her homework every single time and—”

My mother interrupted her: “So what’s the problem?”

I could automatically feel the energy shift in the classroom. I had gotten very good at that over the summer — understanding tone and facial expressions. This teacher had only known me for about four weeks, but she continued on, telling my mother I acted like I was too good to do classwork and that I was a problem.

My mother was furious and began to yell. I tuned them both out. My focus was now on trying to figure out what exactly I had done to cause the teacher to say these things.

I didn’t know there was anything strange about doing my work well. I didn’t know my excellence and intelligence could be read as arrogance or defiance. I just knew I enjoyed learning. School made sense to me.

What didn’t make sense, though, was the look on the teacher’s face as I looked up from my notebook. The look was only on her face for a moment, but the energy she aimed to convey lingered. It was the look you give a child who has violated an unspoken (and unjust) rule.

My heartbeat picked up, but I stayed in the seat, confused about the entire situation. I was a well-behaved child. I didn't cause distractions. I played well with the other kids. I also excelled in my academics.

But I was Black. And that meant I was different from the other straight-A students — the ones who were allowed to be exceptional without being threatening.

​Subscribe​

That was the very first time I learned that intelligence does not protect Black girls — it exposes us.

High achievement without the “right” presentation becomes a problem to be handled. Being young, Black and gifted means you become a target.

I didn’t have the language for blatant racism or bias dressed up as “concern” back then. I only knew that something about me — something I liked about myself — caused a major conflict.

I carried that lesson quietly for years. Growing up a Black girl in Milwaukee, WI, attending religious, predominantly white institutions, I learned to downplay the aspects of myself I thought could be perceived as a problem. I softened my confidence, and I made myself more palatable. I became agreeable, non-threatening, and dare I say, grateful.

It took me decades to realize I had done nothing wrong in that teacher’s classroom. What was wrong was the story she told herself about who I was allowed to be.

What this means for you, this back-to-school season

If you’re a non-Black parent sending your kid back to school right now, here’s the part I need you to sit with: my teacher didn’t think of herself as biased. She thought she was flagging a “concern.” That’s how bias almost always travels — not as a slur, but as a raised eyebrow, a note home, a comment about “attitude” that somehow only gets made about certain kids.

You don’t have to be in the room to interrupt that pattern. You can:

1. Notice how you and your kids talk about classmates who are well-liked, outspoken, or excelling — and ask whether that word would be used the same way for a white classmate.
2. Ask your child’s teacher how they’d describe a student’s demeanor, not just their grades, and listen for language like “attitude,” “intimidating,” or “too much.”
3. Teach your own children early that a Black classmate’s confidence isn’t arrogance — it’s just confidence.

This is the quiet, everyday work of decolonizing. It won't always require a protest sign, but it will require you to pay attention and be more intentional.

​Subscribe​

If you're reading this and you're a non-Black parent or teacher ready to go deeper into your anti-racism journey, download my free guide, "Raise a Human Being, Not a Racist Prick"​

About the writer:

Chanel is a Black queer writer and mother whose work centers personal narrative, spiritual deconstruction, and cultural commentary. She writes about identity, decolonization, motherhood, anti-racism, and emotional healing.