Dear Teacher, You're Racist.

When I was in fourth grade, I had the coolest babysitter in the world. Her name was Rebecca and she was going to school for cosmetology. I looked up to her- she was the older sister I never had. She introduced me to TuPac, Biggie, Warren G- the O.G.s! I was in the hood (where I wanted to be), walking around my house with my Walkman blasting "This DJ."

We were always stylin' with Rebecca around. Since my younger sisters and I all had long hair, she loved practicing what she learned in class on our brown manes. By the time her class was on the Ethnic Hair chapter, I knew this was my time to shine (please note that I do not have ethnic hair).

I walked into Ms. Lee's fourth grade class one morning as the only kid in school with cornrows. Eight, fat rows of braids plaited my big head. Classmates commented on my unusual 'do but I thought I was on the cutting edge of fashion. As I look back, I think this was my way of celebrating my Black heritage. But being mixed, I look more Japanese than I do Black. So cornrows on my head looked just as natural as they did on David Beckham's.

This was also the day I decided it was time to start dressing in my dad's over-sized Nike shirts, coupled with baggy pants. A huge improvement from the B.U.M. Equipment sweatsuits that my mom bought me on layaway. I thought I looked fly like Da Brat.

The next weekend, Rebecca had learned how to do extensions and had extra hair in the trunk of her rickety 1981 Datsun 310. Following her out to the car, I squealed in delight as she showed me the fake plastic hair that would hang from my head in four short hours. I remember the distinct smell of the cheap plastic hair burning as she used her Bic lighter to close the ends of the braids.

On Monday, I was the only kid in school debuting a head full of long dookie braids. I was trying to channel Janet Jackson a la Poetic Justice. I wouldn't know until years later that I had failed. Horribly.

I had class with my best friend and we always got sent out in the hall for chatting too much. During the weeks of the ethnic hairstyles, the chattering increased even more. I had to tell her I was going to be in Poetic Justice 2 as Janet's double. Hello!

After I was sent out to the hall for the umpteenth time, I decided that I had had enough. It was my right to chat about my fly hair. It was time to take action. It was time to right the wrongs done to my fellow brothers and sisters. It was time to write!

"Dear Ms. Lee,
I am always out in the hallway and I don't think that's fair. My friends get put in the hallway too. We shouldn't be out in the hall anymore. I think you're racist.
Sincerely,
HLS"

I sealed the envelope with a loogie and promptly delivered it to her desk the next morning.

I cannot imagine what she must have been thinking when she read what I wrote. It wouldn't be the last time that my writing would put me in the hot seat (for those of you that know my full name, google it- everything that pops up is true).

Lucky for me, I probably hurt Ms. Lee's feelings more than igniting them, as I got a letter back from her a few days later:

"Dear HLS,
You are one of the brightest students in my class. It is not you that is upsetting me, but your actions. When you talk to your friends while I am teaching, it is distracting for me and the other students. This also interferes with what you learn as well. I am not trying to single you out because of your ethnicity. Please know that you are a delight to have in my classroom. I just encourage to make good choices about your behavior.

Sincerely,
Ms. Lee"

It would take a lot patience for me to write a letter as calmly as Ms. Lee did. My letter must have worked, as I was sent to the hall less frequently. But then again, I also had to take the dookie braids out a week after I got them. I guess we'll never know if she was really racist or not.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but being the only kid in school with ethnic hair will get you sent out to the hall.