I distinctly remember my first encounter with racism. I was 4 years old and attended a private preschool in Baltimore county. I had just become friends with another 4 year old girl in my class. Her skin was brown like chocolate, and her jet-black hair was always worn back in braids with round beads at the end, which always knocked together happily when she walked or moved her head. I remember wishing I could have braids with colorful beads on the end too. It looked like much more fun than my straight brown ponytail.