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Mulatto. Thank goodness it is an out-dated word that is mostly only used by the elderly or extremely racist anymore. In 1990 at eleven years old, I didn't know what the word meant. Growing up in a predominantly white affluent suburb of Memphis, Tennessee, some of my sixth grade classmates did not take kindly to having a mulatto teacher. I recognized that he had lighter skin than most black people I had seen, but I never saw what the big deal was since my parents were not the kind to talk about race at home.

Mr. Smith was out in the hall before class started one day when a hushed commotion swept through the room: a boy was going to play a prank on our teacher. I started giggling along with everyone else, almost shaking with anticipation at how hilarious this was going to be. Every pre-pubescent eye in the class was wide and focused as Mr. Smith entered the room, all of us watching with bated breath as he approached his desk. His eyes grew large like ours and then narrowed as he registered what was in front of him. I followed his furious gaze and saw the boy's prank: he had left an Oreo cookie on our teacher's desk.

Momentarily puzzled, I had no idea why this was supposed to be humorous. Yes, I giggled when the other kids did, but mostly because I was a shy, very introverted child who wanted to fit in. I was also an extremely sheltered child and did not realize the implications of ignorance, malice, and disrespect at the time. All I knew was that my teacher was angrier than I had ever seen an adult get at school, and I felt terribly guilty for giggling earlier because this obviously was not funny, although I still did not know why. A dark cloud seemed to descend and fill the room as Mr. Smith's face filled with rage.

Suddenly, Mr. Smith raised his fist and slammed it atop his desk, smashing the cookie into tiny bits. The jolting sound from his hand hitting the cheap metal desk made me gasp and scared me enough to make my eyes well up with tears. I noticed that Mr. Smith's eyes, too, had tears as he stormed from the classroom. There was no more giggling as the children realized the seriousness of the situation. All that was left was silence and humiliation.

Learn more about this author, Rebecca Bauer.
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