Dr. Chanda Nicole Holsey | “Is it canon for people of color to be called the N-word?”
That was the question my 12-year-old daughter asked me recently. I didn’t know what canon meant so I asked her. “It’s when something is bound to happen,” she explained. I later looked up the definition: a canon event is an experience that shapes who you become—often used on social media to describe moments of growth, even when they’re unpleasant or embarrassing.
I told her that I wouldn’t have expected someone her age to experience something like that—but that, sadly, I am not surprised.
On November 23, 2025, during Thanksgiving break, my youngest daughter took our dog, Tweety, for a short walk. I usually go with her, but I was recovering from an outpatient procedure and asked her to take Tweety on a quick one-mile loop to the stop sign and back. She was excited to go and even texted me updates: “The weather is beautiful,” “So many people are outside—families, kids, other dogs…”
But when she returned, she was quiet. Something was wrong.
She finally told me that as she walked our 12-pound Jack Russell/Dachshund mix, four white teenage boys on a golf cart passed her. Tweety barked, they mocked the bark, and then—when she was about 100 feet from our home—they drove by again and yelled:
“Fxxk you, NIGGER!”
My daughter is a 7th-grade Black girl. These were 14- or 15-year-old white boys.
My shock, anger, sadness, and disbelief collided all at once.
America, we have a problem.
We live in a “nice,” “upscale,” golf cart community in Fleming Island, Florida. People often say Clay County is a wonderful place to raise children. But my daughter came home crying, saying she “hates Florida.” My heart sank. I dropped everything and sat with her.
To give context: my daughters and I spent 2021–2024 living in East Asia while my husband finished his final Navy tour. We left conservative North Florida in the aftermath of the George Floyd murder—where I still remember volunteering at a voting precinct – handing out water and snacks in Middleburg and being told by a white woman at a stoplight, “Shouldn’t you be burning down a building or something?”
And then we moved to Japan, and engaged with people from Japan, Taiwan, and China, where strangers were fascinated by our brown hue, majestic features, and unique hairstyles. They asked for photos. They called us stunning. They stared in total awe. It was sometimes overwhelming, but it was also affirming. My daughters had almost three years of experiencing what it feels like to be treated with admiration rather than suspicion.
As I sat with her and we conversed, I asked:
“How does it feel to be treated as beautiful and fascinating in Asia, but come home to a country where some people try to make you feel less than because you’re Black?”
My older daughter overheard me and said, “Mom, that was a whole bar.”
The contrast between Clay County and Sasebo, Japan still stuns me. During the time we lived in East Asia, we visited Mt. Fuji, Fukuoka, Nokonoshima Island Park, Yehliu Geopark in Taiwan—places where tourists stopped us for photos, drawn to our hair, our brown skin, our uniqueness. We joked that we needed protection from the paparazzi.
As we talked, my daughter began to settle. She knows she is not the N-word. She knows she is brilliant and beautiful. She knows that Florida isn’t completely full of people like those boys—even though she’s aware of the racism that exists.
Later that evening, as my husband and older daughter joined the conversation, we reassured her. We prepared her for the reality that this may not be the last incident—racism is not confined to Florida. We discussed how to protect herself emotionally and physically. Unfortunately, despite living in this “coveted” community, she will no longer be allowed to walk alone with Tweety.
What those boys did was tantamount to a hate crime.
And yes, I reported it.
I am proud of my neighbors who rallied around us when I posted the incident on our community Facebook page. One neighbor tagged the sheriff directly. The sheriff and others encouraged us to formally report it the non-emergency line, and many neighbors expressed outrage, sympathy, and shame that such behavior occurred. Some weren’t surprised given our environment. I believe someone knows those boys—and I hope their parents or guardians hold them accountable and ensure they apologize to my child.
Thankfully, my daughter knows her worth. She was unsettled, yet resilient.
I pointed out to her that racism has been a persistent issue in this country for many years. I even shared a 2020 incident from this same community: I had permission from the Amenity Center Director to pick up old flowers that were being discarded. As my daughters and I gathered them, a white couple pulled up, took photos of us without speaking, and later posted them online in another subdivision closed Facebook community page claiming we were stealing. A neighbor eventually told me. I can’t help but believe it was racially motivated.
I told my daughter that even then, I didn’t allow someone else’s prejudice to make me feel small. She shouldn’t either. She knows she belongs. She knows she is worthy.
I believe deeply in the scripture:
Proverbs 22:6 — “Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”
We have raised both our daughters with confidence, self-respect, deference for others, and pride. I believe that formative education, modeling, and expectation setting leaves a lasting impact. And I am grateful our community showed support, that our family surrounded her in love, and that she has the memory of being celebrated abroad—knowing exactly how beautiful she is.
After the officer took her statement and we calmed her down, that is when she asked the question I opened with:
“Do you think this was a canon moment?”
I told her, “Unfortunately…yes.”
Racism in America remains unresolved. There are ongoing cultural tensions in the area in which we reside. It is horrible that she had this experience. Here is the truth that we must confront in my red community in Florida, and in all of America — it is 2025, and the fact that four white teenage boys felt comfortable yelling “F-you N-word” at a Black child is not her canon moment—it is ours.
It reflects what we are teaching, modeling, and tolerating in our homes. It is a mirror held up to families, schools, communities, and leaders who dismiss racism as exaggeration or a relic of the past. It is evidence that hate is not disappearing; it is being taught and ratcheted up.
Adults must do better. We must stop normalizing bigotry in our homes. We must stop demonstrating to our children that cruelty is acceptable. We must stop pretending racism is a political talking point rather than a lived reality.
My daughter may have had a canon moment—but we all have a responsibility to ensure she never has another one like it.
Our family loves our brown skin deeply. And apparently, many Asians do too.
My prayer is that America learns to do the same.
And maybe, by extension, those four boys riding around in the golf cart so cavalierly espousing racial epithets in Fleming Island Plantation will someday learn it too.
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Dr. Chanda Nicole Holsey is a Health Services Consultant and Small Business Owner of HALO for Families, LLC. She has a profound commitment to public health education and community service. Hailing from South Central, Los Angeles, she earned a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology with honors from San Diego State University, followed by a Master of Public at Emory University, and a doctorate in Maternal and Child Health from the University of Alabama at Birmingham. Additionally, Dr. Holsey is a certified asthma educator (AE-C). She lives in Clay County, Florida and is dedicated to serving her community. She is a charter member of the Clay County (FL) Alumnae Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta Incorporated. She is married to her supportive husband, Eric D. Holsey and has two beautiful daughters, Savannah Nicole and Erin Morgan.