“But you're not black. You're like a black girl stuck in a white girl’s body. You Oreo!” And the cackling ensues. Though some may recognize those very words as a compliment or a way of being rewarded for having proper grammar, knowing how to properly enunciate their words and carrying out civil conversations; to me, it's more like a slap in my face as well as my sense of being. Who ever said that being well-mannered, intelligent or knowing how to properly speak was associated with being white or being an "Oreo?"
Growing up in a predominantly white school, I was always praised for being the different black girl as they would say. “You're not like the other ones. You're like us.” But the thing is, I am nothing like them. I am like me. I am like myself. The way I act and speak does not depict what race I am. They say “you’re not like the other ones. You’re like us” as if that's supposed to be some kind of compliment. As if my blackness isn’t good enough. As if, in order to be liked or considered “one of them”, I have to shove my blackness into a box until I’m far away from “them” so they don't get uncomfortable by such blackness.
It took me a while, but I’ve grown to completely love who I am and my blackness. No one, not even another black person, can make me feel like I’m not black enough or my blackness is too much. In the words of Deray, I love my blackness and yours.
