Growing up black can be a very unique thing. There is nothing like it. It contrasts from other races even once variables such as class and geographic region are controlled to be the same. It was fun being in a black household and it has definitely effected the person that I am today. Which is why I am sharing my roots with you all.

Always cheering for the black person / family in reality TV competitions no matter what type things they say or do.

Growing up, I was always caught off guard by how much of a chameleon my mom was when hanging out with her white friends acting like a sweet little white lady and then coming home, where she lets her inner black out when talking and disciplining us.

Being grateful whenever you're able to run away from your parents when they are about to give you a beat-down.

Always hearing, "Don't make me bring out the belt?" But the belt is never brought out because it is too valuable.

Knowing that everything around you could be a tool for punishing.

That face you make when hearing a non-black person in the media or in real life say they don't believe in slapping their own kids.

Thinking all your life that you're going to an H.B.C.U. And if you don't, then you will at least be a part of the divine nine because your parents were.

If neither of these things occur, then you are at risk of getting the clap-back from relatives.

When your parents drooled over Sade like she was a goddess.

Having the hair salon become your second home because your mom needed to get her hair did when your dad was at work. Perm it up! (Natural hair is amazing also).

Going to family reunions (probably east of the Mississippi river) and getting to experience the joy that comes from calling 200 people (some of whom you aren't fully sure you're related to) your cousins.

When you drive 30 minutes to your nearest hood so you can get checked up by that one black doctor or dentist in your area.

Your mom (or dad) always has an opinion about everyone and everything.

Your parents are always shoving black success in your face. Finding every medium to do so.

You get the pregnancy talk in elementary school.

You are thankful that you were not named after a luxury brand such as Prada or Swahili rip off names such as Shaquan. Sorry. (Although these names represent the creativity that African-Americans have and society only makes them out to be ghetto.)

You were given children's books to help you better understand your identity as a black person or see children who look like you.

Getting confused when a child talks back to his mom and she's still as peaceful as a pond. But when you talk back to your mom Poseidon is all up in that thing.

You find yourself identifying with black characters in films and TV shows even if they're nothing like you.

You get the hood tour of your parents childhood neighborhoods. Hearing them point out to every house, say who lived there when they were growing up and then tell that person's whole life story.