Sometimes, when you go abroad, you have to consider the history of the place you're going to. Are there any current riots? What are the women’s laws like? Are there any major prejudices against a certain race? What kinds of things are deemed as inappropriate and appropriate in my country but are the opposite in another. As an African American, I know to be conscious while traveling abroad. Though America might not be the most progressive country in the world, it certainly isn’t the worst out there. So when my family and I went overseas on vacation, I was surprised when all the racial insensitivities came not from foreigners, but other Americans.

The first incident occurred before we even got on the plane. When boarding a plane, there are four groups that are called: Priority, group one, group two, and group three. Passengers are meant to board within that order, and their assignment is labeled on their ticket. However, if you have a child, the child and two adults can board before group one to ensure that the parents can stay with their kid instead of them being split up. My family and I, my three-year-old nephew included, were waiting at the Southwest Airlines gate in Chicago for the family boarding to be called. Another white family of seven was standing beside us, and when boarding began, the white Southwest worker let each of the seven board. We knew the rule of two: One child, two adults. But after seeing damn near 10 people get to board together, we decided to go as a group as well. Standing directly behind them in line, the worker immediately began yelling at us for even having the audacity to assume he would allow us to go through. I pointed to the family ahead of us, telling him that he allowed all of them to go through, and there was more of them than us, so what was the difference? He shrugged and said, “What do you want me to do? Tell them to come back?” My entire family said, “Yes!” in union. “Yeah, well, I’m not going to do that,” he told us. When we refused to move, he called his manager over, as if we were going to quiet down. The manager asked what was wrong, and he said we were making a big deal out of him allowing two family members to board with the child, and emphasized that he told us this was simply the rule. We called himquickly. The manager tried to tell us that the worker was doing his job, but he wasn’t. He was grossly underestimating the amount of people he let in, and he knew it.

I looked at the line waiting behind us. I felt a little bad that we were holding them up from taking a seat so we could take off and a little embarrassed that we were quickly becoming those black people, the stereotypical problem starters who are both un-agreeable and loud. But I couldn't believe the situation we were in. The only difference between our family and the one in front of us was that they had more people than ours, which should have made them a bigger red flag, and that they were white.

I couldn’t help myself.

“Wow,” I said to the worker. “This blatant racism right now is ridiculous.”

I expected him to deny he was being racist or to continue with his lie and claim he had only let two people on board with the child, but he didn’t.

“Shut up!” He yelled at me.

No denial.

And the manager ignored everything.

The manager continued arguing with my mom and my older sister about who could be let on with my nephew, but I was looking at the worker. He was short, white, brown hair and eyes, no striking features. A person you would easily look over while walking down the street, and yet he had the ability to make me angrier than I had ever been in a long time. And that’s when I remembered that before we took our spot in line, my mom had told me to make sure I let the white family go first.

And that was the worst part.

She had known that something like this might happen, that if, by chance, he let the white people all go, she would argue for us to go as well. In 2016, my mom knew that she could never let her guard down when it came to standing up against racial bias.

The manager eventually let us all go through after we had made such a scene. The worker turned to me and said, “Well, I didn’t want to make a mistake with my boss watching.”

But he hadn’t cared about what his boss would think when he let the first family go through. He kept talking, making up excuses for why he had held us up, but none of them explained why he let the others go. Perhaps he had no explanation himself, unconscious racism and bias exists, but I can’t even leave the country where my people are shot down by the dozens every day without being reminded, just one last time before leaving, of the true nature beneath the place I call home.