When I was in preschool, our class was visited by an African-American Santa Claus. Afterwards, I told my mother it wasn’t the real Santa.

“Why?” she asked me.

“Because he didn’t have a beard!” I replied.

In 8th grade, my teacher asked us to raise our hands if we had never heard our parents say anything racist.

Without hesitation, my hand shot right up.

But as I scanned the room eyeing my peers, I quickly noticed that mine was the only hand raised. Not even my friend whose parents were teachers and had been hippies in the 60’s.

We were the academically gifted class. Most of us came from families that were financially successful, valued education and held themselves to high standards. Our parents were invested in our upbringing.

I shake my head today still in disbelief at that moment. However, this wasn’t the first time that the racism in my rural white farming community would send me reeling.

A babysitter’s husband openly used the “n” word and even at 9 years old, I knew I had to speak up.

“You don’t understand,” my babysitter explained. “He used to live in the city. He’s had really bad experiences with them.”

That same year I was told that “black people can’t be pretty” by a friend when I had pointed to an actress I admired on TV.

Throughout middle school, racists jokes ran rampant on the school bus until the day I challenged my peers. I was asked why I even cared – and if I would prefer they make jokes about me instead? (They did.)

In high school, my AP U.S. History teacher told the class that “Whitney Houston was an African-American but Bobby Brown was a n—–.”

Awkward, uncomfortable experiences continued throughout my adulthood with friends, in-laws and acquaintances who thought it was acceptable to use “black” as a racial slur.

Growing up, I had often heard the argument that “everyone is a little racist.” I knew what I believed to be true, but it still gave me pause.

Was I racist, and I just didn’t know it yet? Would I one day laugh at a friend’s racist joke? Would I one day use a racial slur? Would I one day treat someone differently simply because of their skin color? Would I one day discover that hatred was buried deep within my heart?

The answer is a resounding NO.

Racism so pervasive in our society not because it is inherent to our nature, but because so many Americans have been raised with a legacy of hatred or rely on stereotypical media images for cultural awareness.

Racism is taught, generation to generation — but any one of us can break the cycle. My parents did, and I’ve never once waivered in those beliefs.

In the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle.”

Be the change you wish to see. Our children are watching.