It was a normal Monday morning at Lipscomb Academy in Nashville, Tennessee.

I was

in second grade, ready to start the school week off. The school bell rang, the announcements

came on, and now it was time for my class to head to the library. Every Monday morning, we

would go to the library to check out a new book for the week. I remember walking in, the

librarian’s desk to my left, tables to my right, and a bunch of bookshelves right in front of me. I

start to walk around and look at the book covers as I usually do. I see Junie B. Jones, Percy

Jackson, Harry Potter, etc. Out of a whole library of books, I could never find anything that

interested me. As I reminisce about elementary school, I realize now that all the books in the

library had one thing in common. Every character was white. There were no books that had

someone I could relate to. I read all these books, and I see all the white characters being the

hero, succeeding, etc. Since none of those characters succeeding looked like me, it became

hard for me to see that for myself. It became so hard that it made me not appreciate my color. It

made me not appreciate myself for who I am. I used to wish I was different so I could be like my

classmates I saw everyday and the characters in my book I read about. As I am older and

confident, I realize now that my self esteem was incredibly low. This is sad thinking about how

young I was. Maybe you are thinking, it is just a book character. Yes you are right, but to an

extent. Books allow your imagination to run free, taking you to different worlds and letting you

see yourself in places you never thought possible. I remember feeling like I could never

accomplish the same things as the character I was reading about. From elementary school to

about my sophomore year of highschool, I only read one book that was out of the norm for me.

The book was called Bud Not Buddy. It was about a black boy named Bud who was put into

foster care. I remember being so engaged when we would read in class and almost shocked

that we were reading it. I remember being excited to read the book because I finally saw myself

in something I was reading. I wonder why I didn’t notice years ago that people of color were so

underrepresented in literature and why my teachers never noticed either. First, I was very young

and went to a predominantly white school my entire life. Therefore, I thought it was normal.
Second, my teachers were predominantly white and since it was so normal they probably didn’t

recognize.

So to answer the question, who am I as a learner? I am someone who is passionate about

learning, but get a feeling of disempowerment by the lack of representation I see in literature or

school in general. I struggle to stay engaged in certain school subjects because I can’t relate to

what I am learning about. I don’t think the world recognizes the impact reading has on someone,

especially a child. As I get older and understand myself more, this lack of representation gives

me this urge to prove myself. I want to prove to myself that I can succeed and win just as much

as anyone else. I didn’t see it as a kid, but I know that I can now. Representation matters and I

hope one day others will understand too.