I wasn't always prejudiced. I was taught to be. No not
by my parents and not by my race. I was taught racism
by the white race.
You wanna know how I know? Well it goes like this...
Growing Up Black In America
I'm seven years old in 1976. My father just got a job
transfer from Cleveland, Ohio to Denver, Colorado. I
adapted to my new environment well. I made a few friends
on my block. There really was no choice; my sister and I
had nothing else to do. They are all white. Let me tell
you a little about Denver.
Denver back then was fairly new. There was a lot of
undeveloped land. As a matter of fact our house was built
for us. We were the first and only Black family to move in
that neighborhood at that time. But it was a little different
than your average white town; it was liberal which made it
easier for family and I to adjust. Better than one of those
little white southern towns I guess. The elementary school
wasn't built yet so we were bussed to a school that was rather
far. Kind of Inner City. It was cool. I saw a lot of kids
there with similar skin colors as mine. I liked it there.
Then my school was built.
I was kind of shy so I didn't make any friends. I just
hung with the kids from my block. I was one of two Blacks in
the whole school. The only other was a tomboy name Deanna.
But you had to call her Dee. She just beat up everybody.
Stereotype number one that stuck with me. Me? I wasn't much
of a fighter then. Just kept to myself.
My first contact with racism came when I was arguing over
a seat with a little boy. His face and name are a blur; all I
can remember is his blond hair and blue eyes. He called me a
nigger. I didn't tell the teacher, I didn't tell my parents,
or the principal. I just went to the bathroom and cried in one
of the stalls. That was the first time but it was definitely
not the last. With each time that it happened, I just went to
my stall and cried.
All city choir. I was in it. It was a privilege to be in
that choir. The first week of rehearsals I got the flu. Was out
of school for a week, so when I went back of course I didn't know
the words to any of the songs. The instructor wanted us to sing
it without the sheet music. Being the shy little girl that I was.
I didn't let her know that I wasn't there and did not know the
words. She saw me mumbling and stopped the music and began to
yell at me and tell me, screaming that if I didn't want to
participate I should leave. Yes she was yelling. A teacher spoke
up for me. I was the only Black.
Ice-skating. My friend Julie that lived on my block asked me
if I wanted to go ice-skating with her and one of her friends.
Anxiously I went and got my ice-skates. While I was putting on
some warm clothes Julie called and said that I couldn't go, and
she was very sorry, but her friend's mother, who was driving us,
said she didn't like Black people. I told my parents. They said
that some people are like that and that there is nothing we could
do about it. I cried for the rest of the day.
Before I go on to high school let me describe myself to you...
I am a light skinned African American woman with lighter brown eyes
than the average African American and curly hair that is referred
to as "good" hair. I don't refer to it as "good" hair because it's
thin and when I straighten it out it doesn't hold any curl. I am
above average looking to both Blacks and whites.
High school. I hated it. Never had a date. There were over
3000 students in my high school and just to give you a better
understanding of the ratio of Blacks to whites, I graduated in a
class of 1000. Out of that thousand, I was one of maybe 5 or 6
Blacks. Now you can see why I never had a date. There were plenty
of white boys that liked me and maybe would have taken me out, but
none did. Can you guess why? The parents. My first boyfriend
came along in my senior year. He was a Black kid from D.C. We
dated for a year and some change.
All of my high school years I was hated by the Blacks at my
school. They hated my sister who passed through there five years
before I did. Why they hated us I don't know. They used to yell
nasty things whenever I walked by their group. They would throw
stuff at me and throw me against lockers. They would say that I
thought I was too good to hang with them. They would spread
rumors about me. But if ever any of them were by themselves, they
would never say anything to me. They were cowards. I was
referred to as white girl, high yellow, red bone, and oreo. I
hated them. I hated me. Why did they do me like that? I did
nothing to them. So what did I do? I hung with the white kids
as usual.
I really never experienced any prejudice that I could see
from the whites. I did have to put someone in check. See, I
went to a school where some of the kids came to school in limos.
BMW's, Jimmy's and Cabriolet's were the "in" cars to have and
when they threw parties, well you can imagine what they were
like. One of the guys, I remember his name was Maury; little
rich boy, star of the football team, thought that it was funny
to call his friends nigger. How he could think something like
that I don't even want to know. Anyway, he made the mistake of
calling one of his boys a nigger in front of me one day, I wasn't
as shy as I used to be so I did check him on that. He said that
he didn't mean anything by it and that not just Black people are
niggers. In other words, he tried to clean up his faux pas real
quick. I also overheard some of the popular cheerleaders, who
hang out with Maury's clique, saying the same thing. I was so
angry with my parents. Why would they put me in this white
school to be subject to this kind of ridicule? What were they
thinking? I would never do that to my child. I would at least
put my child in a school where there is some degree of cultural
diversity. They didn't even ask us!
Post high school. That is when I started making friends of
my own race. I was learning things about my own culture that I
never thought of. My rich history, great inventors, the truth.
I was in seventh heaven. Finally! A group of people that I
truly felt comfortable with. I didn't have to worry about anyone
saying the wrong things to embarrass me. I identified with
someone for the first time in my life. It took 19 years, but it
finally happened. Better late than never I guess.
I went to a white community college the first 2 years out
of high school. I never hung out with anybody white. I clung
to the Black folks. I liked it. My father and I did not get
along very well because due to my rebirth, I was having so much
fun being Black and being proud, that I was flunking out of
college. I left town and took a semester off. I went to go
stay with mom.
Columbus, Ohio. To me was Chocolate City! There were more
of us here than I had ever seen in my life! Short of visiting
the real Chocolate City (D.C.). I took a six-month breather and
met a good friend who took me to a Historically Black College.
Tennessee State University. It was about to be ON!!!
Tennessee State University. Nashville, TN. A true
Renaissance for me. Here I got to meet other Blacks from
different parts of the country and even the world! It was
more than just an experience. I saw who I was. It was like
an Island with nothing but my own kind there. Now I saw how
the Europeans felt. It was glorious. But there was
something that was not right. Sometimes I felt a bit of
prejudice within my own race that to me made no sense. There
were some girls that were actually jealous of my hair and skin.
What kind of crap is that? There were times that the first
thing that would fall out of someone's mouth is "you mixed
ain't you?" Hell no! I AM BLACK! I preached it, I sang it,
and I yelled it, but I never ever would whisper it again.
I was BLACK POWER! All the way.
Post college. I went back to Columbus to establish my
residency. It's been four years since grad and up until
recently I was the militant wannabe Black Panther of the 90's.
One day my mom and I were talking and I was asking about all
of the pictures of her side of the family that were on the wall.
She really broke it down that day. Come to find out that no
one on her side has very much African in them at all. My
grandmother is a quarter Black, my grandfather isn't Black,
and my mother is one quarter if even that. Then there's my
dad's side. My grandmother is half Native American and half
Black. My grandfather is maybe three-quarters to half Black.
How could this be? I mean I knew that I wasn't straight from
Africa, but I at least thought that I was more African than
this!
I left mom's house stunned. Why didn't they tell me?
It doesn't matter I guess. It never really did. Because you
see, I was, I am, and I will always be... just a nigger to
society.
I'm not a racist. I may still be a little prejudice.
I am always going to hate the ones that hate me. I can't
help that. It's human nature. But I do see things a little
differently than most of my peers, and that is this:
I cannot hate anybody because of their skin color, because my
roots say... that they are ALL in me.
WAKE UP
