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One Halloween, a little Black girl was trick-or-treating around the neighborhood, dressed up in a
superhero costume, but her face was painted white. When I asked her why, she said that her sister
told her that there was no such thing as a Black superhero. She was right. When I turned on the
television, everyone was always White. Superman was White, Santa Claus was White. They even
made Tarzan, king of the jungle in Africa, a White man. I noticed that Miss America was always
White, and the president living in the White House was White, too. Nothing good reflected our
picture. At that early age, I could see that something was very wrong. I didn't understand it. I thought
that my skin was beautiful, I was proud of the color of my complexion. But everything black was
considered bad, and undesirable. Like black cats bring bad luck. Devils' food cake was the dark cake,
and angel food cake was the white cake. These may have been subtle messages, but the affects were
deep. Every day these messages shaped the images that I and other nonwhite children had of
ourselves. I didn't know how, but I knew that I was going to help my people. Somehow, I was going
to make a difference in the world. The more injustice that I saw, the stronger my feelings grew. It
made me feel that I was here for a reason.
[…]I thought boxing would help me be that public Black role model who was missing while I was
growing up. I thought my purpose was to be that hero who showed children that Black is beautiful. I
thought my purpose was to be that champion who showed White people they couldn't treat Blacks
like second-class citizens. I learned that all of these accomplishments were important, but even more
important, I gained a platform that allowed me to carry out my real mission, which has been to
encourage all people to respect each other and to live in peace.