My first day of high school is one that I will never forget. As it regards to the weather or mode of things I can barely remember. However, one element did stand out that day. This element was no other than my attire. In an orderly fashion first came a pair of black Clark's, than came a pair black Dickie pants, followed by a black and white striped hoodie with a white polo shirt underneath. Not to mention a fresh cut (not being allowed to wear one of my favorite fitted Yankees cap over it).
Although this outfit was one to remember there was a particular section that I will never forget.
Personally, I chose the Clark's because I just wanted something new. Deciding to be different never really bothered me at this point. If one could've read my mind at the time I would've said: "To hell with Jordan's and Adidas. I could do bad all by myself."
Unfortunately, I wore those bad boys for maybe a month in a half. It was as if myself wearing Clerk's (another way of pronouncing the work Clark's) wasn't received to be popular by my fellow peers. This was evident thanks to a smear of a foul substance. Luckily enough my mom had the sense to have me pick two pairs of shoes and not just one. You could guess some Air Force 1's did the job.
Social prejudice had entered my life more than twice at this stage. Most of it coming from people who looked like myself. At the age of fifteen my conscience had started to expand, causing me to walk on concrete morals. The only thing I could say was "damn. Will this be the way black boys are treated for being different for once in his existence? There was three more years, five regents, and forty-four credits to find the answer to this dilemma.
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