Okay, I had reservations writing this. I have reservations saying anything that involves race because a majority of America is way too defensive to have a cohesive conversation about important issues. I am not scared to speak my mind, but I hate speaking to a brick wall. Also I was not sure what angle to write this from. As someone who has been on the cusp of black culture and white American culture I have seen both sides. I think being able to experience both sides to a story helps you stay open-minded and understanding and maybe, just maybe, I can catch someone’s attention and help them understand.
Growing up I wasn't too black for white people but way too white for black people. I never understood it. I felt a divide within myself and my community and my classrooms. I was never really comfortable. White people loved me because I was not “too black”. I listen to punk rock, I am intelligent, and I can speak proper English. The black people in school thought I was a weird-o with a superiority complex. But I always thought “I can’t help how they feel about themselves. Why are they putting that on me?”
You see, anyone who seems be able to blend into white American society is lucky. Or so they make it seem that way. No matter what background, if you’re not white but you can fit in with white people you’re lucky. Which is a sweet sentiment but has been shown to be untrue time and time again. You can try to conform but out on the streets you are just another black kid up to no good.
White people always loved me, because I was not like my other black counterparts. I was not loud or rude. I was seen as assertive and intelligent. When I spoke, to some, there was shock, followed by “you’re such a smart young lady!” I never needed that. I knew I was smart and it should never be a surprise to find out someone is intelligent. I noticed that people never did that to my white counterparts, so why me?
On the flip side it seemed like black people hated me. Like I was a sellout. I was someone to make fun of and someone to copy homework off of. I remember vividly a memory of me walking home from school one day. There a black male and female walking behind me. Just two people who lived in the neighborhood but strangers to me. The man goes, “she goes to that white school so she thinks she’s too good to be around us.” I’m not really sure what I did to offend him. Maybe it’s because I was walking fast. But I trust no stranger and I was trying to get home as quickly as possible to watch T.V. honestly. No matter my reasoning, I feel like his comments were uncalled for. But they happened and they hurt.
Everyone, black or white, would tell me “you’re not black, Alona!” followed by a laugh. If I started to steer even slightly towards sounding “ethnic” I would be reminded that my blackness was not enough to even try that. My skin tone meant nothing but at the same time meant everything. I am a walking conundrum being constantly stripped of her own culture by friends, family, and strangers.
I’ve struggled with my blackness like so many other black girls. It makes me cringe to look back on (like I’m sure others do as well). To be so ashamed of yourself and your culture and your people. The thought is something I wish I could sweep under a rug and never have to deal with again. But I have grown, I have learned, and I have learned to learn all that I am.
So shout out to the black girls who have had others try to erase their blackness. Shout out to the black girls who have tried to erase their blackness themselves. Shout out to the black girls who are super hood with long nails and who speak in a dialect people claim they cannot understand. Shout out to the black girls like me who like love their heavy metal and punk rock. Who are the black sheep of their families. Black comes in many shades. Do not let society put you into their little box. I’m so sorry that you have been put down and made to feel you have to fit a mold to be accepted. Break out of these molds and be whoever you are. And most of all, love yourself.
