When I think back on my years at Boulder High, one particular quote comes to mind: “We’ve had good times and we’ve had bad times, but one thing’s for sure, we’ve had times.”

I can’t honestly say that every memory I have of Boulder High is a bad one, though they do far outweigh the good. I have met some unique and interesting people. I have had some good teachers and I was able to get a good education. I could live in a beautiful house by the mountains in a town where the weather is always nice, and nothing is too far way.  But that’s pretty much where all the happy memories end.

My high school experience was difficult, like many other kids, but I believe mine went a little beyond what is normally expected. You see, in a so-called “liberal town” you would not expect the amazing intolerance and prejudice that I have seen.

From the very first day of freshman year when I became a high school student, I have had a strong feeling that I didn’t fit in. Being the product of a divorced, interracial marriage made me an instant minority. It is much harder to fit in when you difference is as obvious as the color of your skin.

None the less, I tried to stay positive, put on a happy face, and go on with the bizarre initiation into life that is high school. I made new friends, met new people, and tried to become one of the hundreds of freshmen at our school. There were always times however, that I knew that people were looking at me differently.

When I began my sophomore year, I tried to wipe the slate of high school clean and begin again. It was great at first. I had a group of friends I really liked, I was still maintaining a relatively good GPA, and I was happy.

Then things started to change. There was a power shift in my social group and I began to feel alienated yet again. This was coupled with the fact that most of my group despised rap music and had absolutely no understanding of black culture what so ever.

I decided to stick it out. I tried to get into their music and put up with their ignorance, but after a while the entire nature of the group changed.  They became wrapped up in drugs and partying, while I was more consumed with academics and sober fun.

I think that one major misconception of my generation is that you cannot have a good time unless some illegal substance is involved. Maybe it is the thrill of doing something you’re not supposed to be doing, or the feeling of maturity that comes from being able to handle your liquor, but I have never felt that drinking or drugs shows any sign of maturity or responsibility.

That summer, I changed my views of my social circle. I no longer wanted to be a part of that group, because they weren’t the same people I had befriended earlier that year.

I made a promise to myself that next year, I would get better grades, and focus on college and my future. I knew that I would miss the social situations I had come to love: having a group to belong to, or even someone my age to talk to, but I knew that the high school mentality was just not a part of me.

Junior year, I got better grades then I ever had. I had good relationships with my teachers, and I felt I was truly accomplishing something worth while.

But I was lonely. I felt like I was missing out on part of life. I stayed home on weekends rather than hung out with friends. I finished homework assignments early rather than putting them off to talk on the phone. I behaved much more like a determined college student than a 16 year old girl.

I wasn’t all that unhappy though because I still had my family. My mom was a constant resource of support, encouragement, love, and understanding. She is still my closest friend today.

In the second semester of junior year, I found a new group of friends in my math class that made me feel like I belonged. They were all different in their own ways, and represent a more realistic cross section of the world. They were the greatest! I felt like myself again: happy, social, optimistic about the future. But one day all that changed.

One weekend, everyone in my new group had decided to meet at my house for a BBQ. Things were going great, but one of my friends who had previously confirmed he could attend had not arrived. After a few unanswered phone calls, we all decided to go to his house to see if he could still come.

When we arrived there, things seemed normal. He told us he couldn’t come anymore because he had to do yard work. After some brief conversation, we all got ready to leave.

He got into his car and began to nudge my smaller vehicle with his front bumper. I knew that he though it was funny because I could see him laughing through the window.

I was known for taking pride in my car, and could not understand why he would joke around by damaging something I valued.

When I jumped out of my car to check for damage, he slammed on the gas, and ran over my foot and ankle, throwing me on the ground and tearing off two of my toenails in the process.

When I got up from the pavement and realized what had happened I panicked. I called my mom, who called the police, I was crying and bleeding and didn’t know what to do. I was so shocked by what had happened that when I saw his car return, I locked myself in my car in fear of what might happen next.

Eventually, the police arrived along with an ambulance and my mom. I went to the hospital, and the other kids stayed at the scene.

When I was in the hospital, my nightmare continued. The nurses could not clean my wounds until the police had arrived to take pictures, the officers had not contacted us, and we had no way of knowing when they would show up. I had to sit in the hospital, waiting for something to happen, in pain, and stunned by what had just occurred.

When the police did arrive, it didn’t get any better. I was yelled at, not at all listened to, and racially profiled. One officer even went as far as accusing me of being in a gang. This only added insult to injury.

As things progressed, I found out my so-called friend had told the police I threatened him in order to shift the blame. None of the officers even heard my account of what had happened. I was forced to write it up and take it to the police station at 2:30AM.

All this had occurred the week before finals, and I could not go to school for any reviews or study sessions.  On top of that, I had to go to my math class and take the final only a few feet away from the person who had injured me.

I was thrilled when summer finally came and I didn’t have to see him anymore.

It was very hard for me because I was so jaded by what had happened. I was very untrusting and depressed. I sat awake at night thinking about what could or should have happened, and how my life could have been different.

I became very dismissive of my peers, thinking something terrible would happen if I hung out with them. I was very nervous even having a friend over to my house.

That’s when senior year began.  I spent “the best year of high school” isolated and alone. I was growing bitter and angry about the way my peers had treated me. I began to see them all a selfish, superficial, insensitive and cruel people who I could not trust.

I avoided social situations at all costs. I wouldn’t even walk through the cafeteria because I didn’t even want to see them. I was quiet and irritated by everything they did.

I did not want to get to know them because I classified all Boulder teens as ignorant, intolerant, malicious people who were only out to make others feel bad.

What I wasn’t willing to see was that there were some who were understanding and had experienced horrible things as I had. There were people who had been spit on, or yelled at, or threatened and felt just a scarred as me.

That year, with the future as the goal, I set my mind to leaving Boulder, and putting all that had hurt me in the past. I applied to schools on the east coast with the goal of getting far away from my experiences, but using them all to improve my future.

I decided that I couldn’t judge every person in my age group the same way because, while many people truly were horrible, a lot of the people I met shared a similar past with me.

I decided to change my life. I wanted to tell everyone that had been miserable that things could clear up, and someday, you could move on.

I became very vocal about my experiences. I believe that the only way to solve a problem is to admit that you have a problem in the first place.

I am hoping that there will be people who can identify with my message and know in their hearts that things will get better, but you have to change too.

Today, I am looking forward to graduating, and beginning real life. I will be in a new place, with all new people and the slate will be clean one again. Hopefully this time I will walk away with more happy memories than those that I have from Boulder High.