“I'm very proud to be black, but black is not all I am. That's my cultural historical background, my genetic makeup, but it's not all of who I am nor is it the basis from which I answer every question.”
Denzel Washington Imagine being the only black girl in an all white school, I wanted to be a clone of them so I wore the same clothing as they wore, and I even styled my hair the way they had. But it didn't matter; nothing did, because it wasn't going the change the fact that I was always going to be black. The racism was over after a year but I still got constant parsimonious stares and questions like, “How did you get in here, did you cheat your way up to the top”? I didn't let it get to me, I knew who I was and nobody was going to change that. I started not to care if my clothes weren't name brands or if my hair wasn't straight and blonde. I wore my natural hair; it fell to the middle of my back.
My mom is white and so is my dad, people wonder how white parents can have a dark skinned, child, well I’m proof. At times my parents were ashamed of me at first; they got a DNA test to see if I was even theirs. I know this was a new to them, raising a child of a different race. I know how hard it was to walk around with a white child that looked like you and have another child with dark skin on the other side. I cried myself to sleep every night because it was hard, having your parents wanting to give you up to a black family because they looked at you. The stereotypes that I was portrayed to have. People waited for me to slip up so they can point it out. I wasn't loud or violent or I didn't have a big butt or a stank attitude. I was just like them, I talked like them, and I walked like them. I was them and they didn't understand that. For those who think that race doesn't mean anything they are wrong, it means everything.
I put on my mandatory school black dress shoes. I didn't mind wearing a uniform; it made me feel sort of included. Me and my brother always walked to school together, we were really close. I told him everything and he was there to listen.
“Anyone at school I need to beat up”? My brother asked as he closed the house door after me.
I stepped down the hard wooden stairs, “Yeah, but I don’t think you’ll be able to take down the whole school”.
“Try me”. He joked.I looked at him; he had blonde hair just like dad and blue eyes like mom. I didn't have any of that; I just got mom’s long hair. “Thanks. Did you feel ashamed of me because I’m black? Did you really believe that I was even related to you”?
He nodded, “There wasn't a doubt in my mind, I always wanted a sister and I didn't care what color she was, you’ll always be my sister. Even if you were white, I’ll still treat you the same. Family is family, in the end that’s all you have”.
I smiled those words sucked to be like honey to a honeycomb. I loved my brother, he never cared what other people thought and that rubbed off on me. Even when my own parents were going to abandon me he stuck to his guns and told them off. I still remember his words, “Why are you going to sign her away, Do you think it’s just that easy? You gave birth to her”.
My mom interrupted him, “Black is the color of dirty clothes, of grimy hands and feet… Black is the color of darkness, of tired beaten streets. Do you see my drift”?“No I’m afraid that your drift is dead just like that poem that you quoted; those aren't your words mom. She is your daughter; there aren't enough DNA tests that you can take to deny that. You let people buzz in your ear and tell you to give her up because she doesn't look like you. There wrong and so are you for believing them. Your sick, you both are. Mom didn't cheat on you, dad and have an affair with a black guy but I guess that’s easier to believe than to man up and be parents to your child.”
I gave him a hug, “You don’t know how much that means to hear you say that. We should hurry and get to school before breakfast is over”.
He stood up from the stairs, “Last one there is a rotten egg”. He joked.
I walked into my classroom and all eyes were on me, it was the first day of school. Well, it wasn't but it felt like it. It was the first day of the new school year and we got new students which meant new problems. “Hi, welcome. Please have a seat”! The teacher pointed me to a seat in the back.
“I’ll like to take a seat in the front, Rosa Parks didn't fight so hard for us to not to be able to sit in the front”. I looked on the board and it was written, “African American Studies”. Was this the time where I finally get to know my history.
A student raised his hand, “Why do us white students have to learn about black history”?
“I’d like to answer that one”. I spoke up
The teacher nodded, “Please go right ahead”.
“
Because were required take white- studies courses, though the schools don’t call them that. Do they”?
It felt good to stick up for something once in my life and I knew this school year was off to a good start, I didn't need my brother or my parents to take my battles anymore because I was ready to defeat!