Tulsa, Oklahoma, is about a two-hour drive from my hometown. So it shocked me when I found out that an unarmed African-American male was shot and killed when he had no weapon on him or in the car. What surprised me the most was not the shooting, but the tweets from people I went to high school with. The tweets ranged from how racism isn’t a real thing, to how anyone who thinks racism still exist is ignorant, to how we shouldn’t take anything personally.

Don’t take it personally.

Wait, what?

That line replayed in my head like a scratched vinyl

Don’t take it personally.

Don’t take it personally.

Don’t take it personally.

I didn’t know how to respond to that tweet. When I closed my eyes that night I could see the words from my phone screen swirl around the black, blank, canvas of my mind. The words dripped with pain and made my brain feel heavy. I would try to think about other things, but they couldn’t outweigh those words. I heard a noise come from outside my bedroom door. It startled me enough to make me open my eyes. I soon realized it was just my dad snoring from his room. I kept my eyes open and just looked up into the ceiling that was swallowed up by the darkness. It was in that moment that I realized why those words bothered me so much.

I’ll never know what it feels like to use a “color only” bathroom or go to a school where I’m given a lower education because my “colored mind” can’t obviously comprehend knowledge.

I don’t know what it feels like to have others see me as a threat because my skin color is too dark.

I’ve never been scared for my life when stopped by a policeman.

To be denied service because my color isn’t welcomed.

I don’t know what any of that feels like, but I have a father who does.

My dad grew up in the Civil Rights time. He remembers MLK’s “I Have a Dream Speech”. He knows what it feels like to use a “blacks only” bathroom, and have to go to a school where his education was subpar compared to those who were white. He knows what it feels like to have people walk in a different direction all because they felt threatened by his dark skin. I have a father who had to fight for his right to just be human. My father had to learn how to not get killed for simply walking down the street.

The day my father’s heartache, struggle, and pain are taken away is the day I won’t take it personally.

When people aren't denied a job because of their skin color is the day I won’t take it personally.

When people aren't harassed at school, the workplace, and other establishments because of their skin is the day I won't take it personally.

When individuals aren't subjected to believe that their natural hair, skin type, eyes color and body type aren't beautiful and that other types are better is the day I won't take it personally.

I don’t know the true intentions of that police officer, I can’t read her mind. What I will say is that racism is real. It still exists, and I’m not ignorant for saying it does. My father and the rest of the African American community doesn’t need you to feel bad for them or pity them. They are stronger than that. What they want you to have is empathy. To understand that they faced real struggles and that they still face them to this day. So to my former high school peers that said those tweets, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you can’t see past your attitude to see that there are real people who are hurting. I’m sorry that you can’t see that there are people who have scars visible or invisible from the racism that happened in your own back yard. I’m sorry that you think I’m ignorant because I want to be vocal about the struggles my dad and others face. I’m sorry that I won’t stop until there is equality for black lives.

I’m sorry that I take it personally.