On my first day attending Florida Gulf Coast University, it rained. It is possible that it was just a result of southwest Florida’s rainy climate, but a bigger part of me still believes that the tone for my time there was being set at that moment.
Although I loved going to a school that was eco friendly and even had a beach on campus, the atmosphere there was not warm to say the least. Walking into my first class, I quickly understood what type of experience I was going to have there; the same one that I had at the other predominately white college I had attended.
I was the only black student in my whole class and as I expected, I was looked at every time the professor or other students wondered how things were viewed from a minority stand point. I was examined every day I came into class with anticipation to see what kind of crazy outfit or hairstyle I would be sporting that day and I was also among only a small group of people who were able to grasp the concept that racism isn’t dead and gone.
Maybe I should have let the dust settle and given it more time, but from the very first day, I was submitting a change of term application to Florida A&M University so that I could still take advantage of the acceptance letter that I had received in the spring.
Just one semester at FGCU and I was already ready for a change of scenery from the slow, snowbird infested city that is Fort Myers Fla. (as if I wasn’t already eager to leave during high school). I looked forward to the autumn leaves and hilly landscaping of Tallahassee and even more, having the opportunity to climb the highest of all seven every day (so I thought… It gets pretty tiring after a while).
Most of all, I was ready to be in a place where I could feel accepted and at ease. A place where diversity means more than 67 percent white and 33 percent everything else. I was looking forward to meeting people who write poetry with the same type of anger and fed-upness that I have.
What I got was all of that, plus more. As much as I hated moving two hours away from the nearest beach to go to school at a place infested with nepotism and horrible parking, I love hearing people practice their band instruments in the parking garage as I head to class each morning. I love being around the people who start trends and make up new dances every week.
Switching from the pale walls of FGCU to the brick buildings of FAMU instilled a sense of purpose in me. Knowing that each and every brick was laid with me in mind is inspiring. Rather than feeding into the debate on if all Black people should go to HBCUs, I just prefer to exalt my own.
There is no other place in the world that will shut the doors to graduation 30 minutes after it begins knowing that nobody is going to show up on time like FAMU. There is also no other university that I could have gone to that makes me feel more accepted and inspires me more. My HBCU experience has been pretty trifling in many ways so far, but, I know that the pride I will have when I see hundreds of hands just like mine receiving their degrees at the end of my journey will be unmatched.
