The Oreo, famous for being "milk's favorite cookie", and for a long time, people's favorite way to describe me. While taking a moment for some much-needed introspection in order to find my voice as a writer, I've had to confront the ways I viewed myself in the past as well as how the comments of others have had a hand in the way I perceive myself now. As a means of deeper reflection, I'm examining how the meaning of those assertions of my being white on the inside has changed throughout my life and contributed to my understanding of the world and my place in it now.
When I was younger, all of the middle school jokes that centered around me being black on the outside and white on the inside were funny, at times annoying and unwarranted, but inconsequential and comical nonetheless. They never bothered me because to the best of my understanding, they were correct. At that point in time, I had learned from the unspoken social subconscious of America that my taste in music, the way I dressed, my interests and the way that I spoke all disqualified me from being able to identify as "black".
I remember being 13 vividly; I listened to Lorde religiously, I was a fanatic about keeping my hair straight, and I had just begun taking ballet, tap, and jazz at a local dance studio. It never once bothered me that I was the only person of color in my classes, everyone was inclusive and I was only focused on learning how to pirouette and make friends with the girls that shared my interest in performing arts. My own lack of attention to being the only outlier, along with my classmates' congeniality, led me to believe that everyone was just as indifferent to this fact as I was. I remember one day while taking a break from the barre, the group conversation was steered toward the topic of a "ghetto" girl in one of my dancer friend's classes. As it became evident that the subject of our conversation was black, the focus was then shifted to me. I recall being asked why I didn't act that way, to which another one of my friends interjected: "It's because Sydnee's one of those white-black girls, she was raised right." At that moment I understood that the comment was made with the intent of being complimentary (and to this day I don't think either of them meant any harm by what had implied). However, it wasn't until later that I realized being thought of as white for being similar to my friends in dance was not a compliment, or how damaging this kind of perception can be.
Assigning positive characteristics to any single group promotes the longevity of stereotypes that alienate different groups from one another and also damages the psyches of those who don't identify with the categorical boxes that society tries to place them in.
This welcomed revelation came to me when I was at the end of my freshman year in high school. Recognizing that every one of my obscure interests and unpopular opinions was not exclusive to one race and did not separate me from my own, have allowed me to comfortably settle into my own skin. I am very aware of the prevalent social barriers that still exist in our society, but I am also much more aware of myself now as well.
