One day, the principal came into our room and, after talking to the teacher, for some reason said: “I wish all of the white scholars to stand for a moment.” I rose with the others. The teacher looked at me and, calling my name, said: “You sit down for the present, and rise with the others.” I did not quite understand her. She repeated: “You sit down now, and rise with the others.” I sat down puzzled and dumb. I saw and heard nothing. When the other were asked to rise, I did not know it. When school was dismissed, I went out unconsciously. A few of the white boys laughed at me, saying: “Oh, you’re a nigger, too.” I hurried on as fast as I could to where my looking–glass hung on the wall in my own little room. For an instant I was afraid to look, but when I did, I looked long and earnestly. I was accustomed to hearing remarks about my beauty; but now, for the first time, I became conscious of it and recognized it. I noticed the ivory (象牙) whiteness of my skin, the beauty of my mouth, the size and liquid darkness of my eyes. I ran downstairs and rushed to where my mother was sitting. I buried my head in her lap and cried out: “Mother, tell me, am I a nigger” I could not see her face, but I felt her hands on my head. I looked up into her face. There were tears in her eyes and I could see that she was suffering for me. And then it was that I looked at her critically for the first time. I had thought of her in a childish way only as the most beautiful woman in the world; now I looked at her searching for defects. I could see that her skin was almost brown, and that she did differ in some way from the other ladies who came to the house; yet, even so I could see that she was more beautiful than any of them. She must have felt that I was examining her, for she hid her face in my hair and said with difficulty: “No, my darling, you are not a nigger.” She went on: “If anyone calls you a nigger, don’t notice them.” But the more she talked, the less was I reassured, and I stopped her by asking: “Well, mother, am I white Are you white” She answered tremblingly: “No, I am not white, but your father is one of the greatest men in the country. The best blood of the South is in you.” This suddenly opened up in my heart a fresh fear, and I almost fiercely demanded: “Who is my father Where is he” She stroked my hair and said: “I’ll tell you about him some day.” I sobbed: “I want to know now.” She answered: “No, not now.”
One day, the principal came into our room and, after talking to the teacher, for some reason said: “I wish all of the white scholars to stand for a moment.” I rose with the others. The teacher looked at me and, calling my name, said: “You sit down for the present, and rise with the others.” I did not quite understand her. She repeated: “You sit down now, and rise with the others.” I sat down puzzled and dumb. I saw and heard nothing. When the other were asked to rise, I did not know it. When school was dismissed, I went out unconsciously. A few of the white boys laughed at me, saying: “Oh, you’re a nigger, too.”
I hurried on as fast as I could to where my looking–glass hung on the wall in my own little room. For an instant I was afraid to look, but when I did, I looked long and earnestly. I was accustomed to hearing remarks about my beauty; but now, for the first time, I became conscious of it and recognized it. I noticed the ivory (象牙) whiteness of my skin, the beauty of my mouth, the size and liquid darkness of my eyes. I ran downstairs and rushed to where my mother was sitting. I buried my head in her lap and cried out: “Mother, tell me, am I a nigger” I could not see her face, but I felt her hands on my head. I looked up into her face. There were tears in her eyes and I could see that she was suffering for me. And then it was that I looked at her critically for the first time. I had thought of her in a childish way only as the most beautiful woman in the world; now I looked at her searching for defects. I could see that her skin was almost brown, and that she did differ in some way from the other ladies who came to the house; yet, even so I could see that she was more beautiful than any of them. She must have felt that I was examining her, for she hid her face in my hair and said with difficulty: “No, my darling, you are not a nigger.” She went on: “If anyone calls you a nigger, don’t notice them.” But the more she talked, the less was I reassured, and I stopped her by asking: “Well, mother, am I white Are you white” She answered tremblingly: “No, I am not white, but your father is one of the greatest men in the country. The best blood of the South is in you.” This suddenly opened up in my heart a fresh fear, and I almost fiercely demanded: “Who is my father Where is he” She stroked my hair and said: “I’ll tell you about him some day.” I sobbed: “I want to know now.” She answered: “No, not now.”
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