Once when I was in seventh grade, I asked my best friend why her parents were so fond of me. She responded, “You don’t act black.” At the time, I didn’t think much about what she said. But as years pass, my contempt continues to grow for that one sentence and each of its variations that I am unceasingly faced with. These words hit me nonstop like raindrops on pavement. “You’re the whitest black person I know.” “You aren’t really black.” “You’re like an Oreo, black on the outside and white on the inside.” These are all real comments that have  been repeatedly directed towards me, the speaker delivering the line in all seriousness. With each occurrence, I can see the ignorant smile on their face,  like they expect me to respond with, “Thank you so much! You are too kind.”

That has never been my response. To be white is not a compliment. I am a hardworking student and an involved member in the community. I am well-behaved, well-intentioned, and well-rounded. I am the girl that parents want their children to act more like. I am a scholar, I am a leader, and above all, I am black.

As I continue to show the best sides of myself, I am increasingly viewed as white. Societal standards push people to associate success with the white race and failure with the black race. In our current society, a high-achieving black person is an oxymoron. According to the Pew Research Center, the median income for black households is around $30,000 less than that of white households, and black families are more than twice as likely as white families to live in poverty. Many people view this as evidence that whites are more successful than blacks. This is far from the truth; poor schools, lack of jobs, and overarching racial discrimination are a few of the many factors that hold black people back in America. Black people are just as capable of becoming successful if given the privileges that whites in America are born with.

Think of two identical balls that can reach the top of a hill when given the same amount of force. The first ball represents white people in America and the second ball represents blacks. The first ball is kicked with more force than is needed and it goes past the top of the hill. The second ball is kicked with less force than is needed and barely rolls up the side of the hill, only to start rolling backwards because it couldn’t go any higher. Both balls have the potential to reach the top of the hill when given the same exact force, but because of the different conditions, one goes farther than expected, while the other ends up behind its starting point.

The reason you don’t see as many black people at the top of the metaphorical hill is because they aren’t given the same amount of “force.”  

When a disadvantaged person like me works hard and successfully meets their white peers at the top of the hill, the reason is far from “because she is white on the inside.” It is because I am the ball that defies gravity. I am black, and that is by far the greatest compliment I could ever receive.

This piece also appears in our October print edition.