My First Job

Often, I will sit down and feel like I’m not doing my forefathers proud. The ones who were slaves, the ones who were poor farmers, the ones who protested, and the ones who went through more racism in the world than I could ever imagine. I start to feel like I’m reaping the rewards without doing any of the work.

That’s when I remind myself that there is plenty for me to do.

I don’t remember a single day after school that I didn’t have some kind of work to complete. From the time I was around four to when I was twelve, my mom would help me out with my homework. She would make me sit at our dining room table. It was a long slab of glass that laid on the top of four black metal cylinders with golden rings. At this table, I had to sit for hours until that homework was finished. I would cry if something was too hard for me to get, but she never yelled at me or anything of the sort. However, giving up wasn’t an option either. I understood why I had to do homework, but I couldn’t understand why she took it as seriously as she did.

Every few years, she would tell me why she was making me do all of it.

She would tell me that, outside of our house, there are lots of people who will look at me and think they know me. That they would look at me and put me in a certain category. Those talks stuck with me and helped to make me who I am today. The end of her talks are what stuck the most and will forever be engraved in my mind. She would tell me, “Now that you know they’ll assume, it’s your job to prove them wrong.” That was the most serious I’ve ever seen her, and disappointing her is not something I like to do.

So that’s what I did. It’s what I continue to do today.

I live off of it now. I was dating a girl in high school and her parents hated the idea that I was going to college to study graphic design. No matter how much I explained to them what it was to be a graphic designer, they saw no hope for me, or their daughter being with me. Her parents, along with the many others who shared their beliefs, are one of the reasons I strive to grow as a designer and create the best work that I can. So, in a way, I suppose I should thank them for the motivation they unknowingly bestowed upon me.

Whenever my mom told me that people would assume they knew me, she never said it was because I’m black. Perhaps she thought that was too jarring to say to a child. Even though I understood that’s what she meant, her not being specific helped me to realize her words went for everyone.

When someone tells you singing isn’t your forte, get a standing ovation at a basement show. Laugh at your miserable biology professor by getting yourself published. Win every design competition you can when your school counselor tells you you’ll never do well with your current academic grades. Do it like it’s your job.

Prove them wrong.