I became an angry black girl in the fourth grade. I hadn’t realized it until my teacher, Mrs. Jefferey-Roebuck told me I needed to change my attitude. I didn’t think I had a bad attitude.
I knew was angry. I was mad because I didn’t live with my biological mother. I was angry because the new boy didn’t like me. I was angry because my hair shrunk when it was wet and all the other girls in class had perms.
But I was totally unaware that anyone else knew I was angry. It turned out, everyone knew I was angry. Because I was brash and abrasive when I dealt with my classmates. …