There's a running joke in my family about how I'm the "white girl" of the bunch. I was a little different from the rest of my cousins and family members. I remember being at a family gathering for Christmas and showing off my Aaron Carter CD (yes, you read that correctly) that I got as a present. I let one of my older cousins listen to it and he he just laughed at me and said, "What in the world are you listening to?"
For those who aren't familiar with the term oreo, Webster Dictionary defines it as a black person who adopts the characteristic mentality and behavior of white middle-class society. Basically, black on the outside but white on the inside, just like an Oreo cookie. I was branded with this title since I can remember. I was called an oreo because of the music I listened to, the clothes I wore, the way I spoke and the clubs and organizations I joined in school.
The number one reason I was called an oreo was because of the way I talked. Using proper English and advanced words has become associated with being white. Speaking properly that way shows that you're educated and care about your image. When a black person tells another black person that they sound too white to me, it translates into, "You sound too educated to be black. We aren't educated." Because I didn't talk like the rest of my black friends, I wasn't black enough. Doesn't that break your heart?
Most of my life I've heard the comment, "You're the whitest black person I know." What does that even mean? Seriously. If I only identify with being black, how can I be white and black at the same time? I'm just a person. I was too white to be black and too black to be white, so I often felt like I was right dab in the middle of things.
Growing up, I lived in a primarily Black and Hispanic neighborhood with my mom who sheltered me from certain television shows and songs on the radio (and I'm so grateful for her parenting decisions). I didn't know all of the popular rap songs or watch B.E.T after school like the rest of my black friends, and they found that to be kind of odd. I guess since that's what "black people do," I was to follow suite. I was told that I was an oreo because I was a cheerleader. I was involved in competitive cheerleading, so after school I had practice on the other side of town and I was around more Caucasian people. Besides myself, there was only one other African-American girl on my team. I'm not even joking. We were the only two black girls (that eventually became the best of friends for nine years) cheering for that company. With being one of the only black girls on the team, I did have to answer the same questions over and over again, such as:
1. Do you have a weave? (No)
2. Can you teach me this dance? (Yes, but I'm not going to)
3. Why is your hair so long? (Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you had to be a certain ethnicity to have nice long hair. *flips nice, long hair and walks away*
4. Why are all black people loud?
5. Do you live in the ghetto?
In all honestly, there was a part of me that started to believe that I was an oreo, and there was a lot of self-doubt as to who I was and how I was supposed to act since I was black. What makes me black is the color of my skin and my family, not the things that I like or don't like.
I'm proud of who I am and where I've come from. I just ask that you don't make me something that I'm not or try to label me something that is ignorant. Yes, I can quote every Ashlee Simpson song at a drop of a hat, but I can also sing right along with the Fugees (Lauryn Hill is bae, btw). If I accept the term oreo, then I'm also accepting the stereotypes that are being traded in society. I will not let society decide whether or not I fit my race. So no, I'm not an oreo. I'm an educated, talented and beautiful black woman. The things that I wear, listen to and watch, eat or the way I speak does not determine if I qualify to fit my race. They are not a reflection of "whiteness," but of who I am. Being all of those things make me, well, me: Ashley Renay.
