Feb 27, 2016 7 min read

Wake up. Brush my teeth. Do my hair. Get dressed. My life feels like a continuous pattern that keeps going. It’s Tuesday, Feb. 1, 2014, which means one thing. And if you’re thinking Valentine’s Day, then you’re wrong. It is the beginning of Black History Month. This is the slowest month of them all, because all we talk about is, “Black History Month this. Black History Month that.” I’m not racist or anything. I mean, I don’t try to be. Where I’m from there are still very racist people. Like my dad.

I live in Newport News, Va. A long time ago, racism was really bad here. Blacks couldn’t go to the same school as whites. They couldn’t drink out of the same water fountain. And they couldn’t go to the same pool. It was pretty bad, but now it’s better.

When I get on the bus and go to school, everyone is so excited about what we are going to talk about. My dad always says whites are superior to blacks. I don’t believe that’s true, but I also don’t see the point in having a whole month dedicated to black history. I mean, whites have done great things and you don’t see a month about us.

“Carissa! Carissa!” I guess I was in a deep thought because Bailey was practically snapping in my face.

“What?” I say that a bit harsher than I should have, because she looked at me like I just slapped her in the face. “I was just going to ask if you were excited to learn about black history,” she said.

“Oh yeah, yeah, I am.” She can tell I don’t really mean it. She says, “Just because your dad is racist, doesn’t mean you have to be.” The bus parks in front of the school. My school isn’t too big, but it is bigger than a normal school. It is all brick and it looks nice. I walk into my classroom, and Miss Miller is writing on the board. As she is writing, her long, blonde braid moves from side to side. I envy her because her hair is so beautiful.

As I suspected, she is writing “black history” on the board. I sit down in my assigned seat next to Billy. He is black and he seems super excited for this month. Billy has been talking about it all January.

“Class, it is Black History Month.” I hear a small squeal come out of Billy. “This month is to honor black history and to show how we should respect everyone despite of race or religion. We are all the same. I want you students to write an essay on an African-American of your choice.” Miss Miller then goes on a long rant about the essay.

After what seemed like 100 years, the day finally ended. When I get off the bus, I go home to start my essay. I choose Ella Fitzgerald. She was an amazing jazz singer. She was born in Newport News, Va., on April 25, 1917. She had multiple nicknames, like Lady Ella and Queen of Jazz. Ella died on June 15, 1996. One time, Ella was sitting on a train, and she couldn’t find a seat in the blacks-only section. So she sat with the whites. The conductor tried to move her, but there were white sailors next to her and they said she could stay. When she performed, there were many racist people in the audience and they would boo her off stage. Her tour lost lots of money because of this.

It is almost 12 a.m., and I can barely keep my eyes open. As soon as I feel them shut, I open them and I’m in a new setting. I am in a business room. Next to me are two white, older men. In front of me is Ella Fitzgerald. I can’t believe my eyes. Next to her is a man. He is saying that Ella is an amazing singer, and that she would be a great opening for the show. The man next to me says, “All of the other acts are white and Miss Fitzgerald would not look good for pictures.” The man next to Ella says, “That’s not fair! She is an amazing singer and deserves to perform!” He is standing now. The other man next to me says, “That is our decision and it is final.” The two men get up to leave and I follow.

When I go into a door, I am somehow on a plane. I take a seat and wait for something to happen. The door opens, and Fitzgerald and a few people walk on the plane with her. They sit there for not even five minutes, and they are asked to leave the plane because there are whites that need seats. She says, “I have to ride this plane or I will miss my show in Sydney.” The man replies, “I guess you will have to miss your show.” And he shoves them off the plane. I get off the plane as well. When I open the door, I am backstage. Ella is standing behind the stage because she is not allowed to go on. Norman Granz, Ella’s agent, had a gun held to his head for telling them Ella should be on stage. I suddenly hear sirens in the distance. I think to myself that the police are coming. When they come in, I get excited because they are going to take the white men. I thought too soon, because before I knew it, they were taking Ella and Norman.

When they got to the police station, the officers secretly asked Ella for an autograph. Ella was appalled. She said, “You have some nerve asking me for an autograph.” And then she walked away. When I walk into the same door as her, I am in my bed once again. It is six, which is the time I have to get up. Now I finally understand why there is a Black History Month. Someone like Ella Fitzgerald had to go through so much, just because of her race.

Wake up. Brush my teeth. Do my hair. Get dressed. My life doesn’t feel continuous anymore. My dream about Ella really makes me think. I don’t talk to people on the bus. I don’t know what to say. I walk into my classroom and go right up to Miss Miller. “Excuse me, Miss Miller.”

“Yes, Carissa.” She replies.

“Can we please read a biography about Ella Fitzgerald.” She looks shocked when I say this.

“I’m sorry, Carissa, but I already have lesson plans for the rest of this month.” I think about what she said for a minute.

“This month?” I say a little louder than expected.

“Yes, this month,” she explains.

“Why can’t we read it next month? I mean, shouldn’t we honor black history all year round?”

Bella Passieu is an eighth-grader at Chartiers-Houston Junior/Senior High School. This essay won third place in a Black History Month essay contest sponsored by Washington Health System Teen Outreach. The second-place and first-place entries will appear next week and the week after.