Growing up I did not have one teacher who was a person of color. Although it’s quite shocking to me now, I don’t think I really noticed it growing up. Not only did I not have one teacher of color in my K-12 years, but also in college getting my undergraduate degree. It wasn’t until I was in graduate school that I had a professor who was Black. And she was the only one I had in graduate school. I remember the first time I met her – I was in awe of her. She was so smart and accomplished. Her resume was unbelievable, and I remember wanting to soak up all the knowledge I could in those all too few classes.
As a young girl, I played with white Barbie dolls and my favorite television show was Charlie’s Angels and like most young girls, I debated if I was Jill, Sabrina, or Kelly. And although I grew up with a mother who told me I could do and be anything I wanted as long as I worked hard, when The Cosby Show came on, I was in awe watching a family with the father being a physician and the mother an attorney. So many times on television, Black people were portrayed as poor or the male character as either a police officer or a drug addict/alcoholic. The only time I saw Black people in prestigious positions, they were athletes or musicians. So, although I believed my mother and knew I could do whatever I set my mind to do, the message wasn’t reinforced in other areas of my life. I didn’t see any Black doctors or attorneys and definitely didn’t see many Black people in politics.
Over the next 30 years, lack of representation would become a recognizable theme in my life.
When I was in the ninth grade, I tried out for the drill team. Tryouts consisted of learning a marching routine and a short dance. On the day of the actual tryouts, I was so nervous I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach. During the marching routine, I didn’t stay on beat and even turned in opposite directions multiple times. During the dance routine, I looked at the other girls and still didn’t get it right. To say I was a hot mess is putting it very lightly. No exaggeration. So, you can imagine my surprise when my name was called as having been chosen to be on the team. After the tryouts were over, the captain walked over to me and excitedly said, “Kristina, congratulations! You are the first Black person to ever be on the drill team! I hope you know what a big deal this is!” I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent and let her continue to gush until I could get out of that gym. I ran out to the parking lot where my mother was waiting. No sooner than I got into the car, I began sobbing. Of course, my mother thought I was crying because I didn’t make the team. She immediately began consoling me, letting me know there was always next year. I remember looking at her and shaking my head. I said, “No, I made the team, but only because I’m black”. And although I didn’t truly understand what had just happened, I knew it didn’t feel right. That was the beginning of race conversations I had with my mother.
Over the years, there were other incidences when having a person of color around in an otherwise one-race environment could have made a difference in my life. Like when guidance counselors at my high school told a leadership development organization for children of color that there were no students of color at the high school with a GPA of at least 3.5 (there were, and I was one). Like the times in undergraduate school, I was the only person of color in a classroom and the teacher made inappropriate racial remarks and graded me harshly. Like the time when I worked for an organization with more education and more years of experience, a younger white male received the promotion.
In each of those scenarios, things may have turned out differently if there was a little more diversity. Maybe I wouldn’t have thought of those moments in a negative light if I had just seen other representation in leadership positions. I am a proponent of diversity of all kinds. I believe we are smarter and better when we surround ourselves with people who look different, come from different backgrounds, and have different views, and different experiences. But far too many times, the companies we work for begin looking the same – especially in leadership positions.
So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised as to why I got so emotional watching Senator Kamala Harris announced as Former Vice President Joe Biden’s running mate and again as she made her acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention. I get emotional thinking that a woman who, like me, is of color and grew up in a single-parent household. She attended an HBCU (Historically Black Colleges and Universities), not an ivy league school like so many other presidential/vice presidential candidates. She was in a sorority, she married later in life and has two step-children. She’s so…normal. And seems very relatable. That’s why representation is so important. It can shape how minorities are viewed by society and how they view themselves.
I was told that I could do and be anything I wanted, and I believed it. But due to life experiences and what I was seeing every day, I don’t think I stopped believing; I think I believed it was only possible up to a certain point and only for a certain type of person. In my very first blog, I talked about the impetus for me in starting to write this blog. I wanted to be in a position where I believed my ideas and opinions were being heard. And that’s what representation does – it empowers those who have been denied a voice and encourages all of us to learn about people we might not understand.
Watching Senator Harris, I couldn’t help but think about my 14-year-old niece and 16-year-old nephew. In their short lifetime, they have already seen a Black President of the United States and a Black and South Asian woman as the nominee for Vice President of the United States. They don’t have to wonder if they can really be and do anything they want if only they work hard. They are seeing it in action.