Posted in Life

Signs of Blackness-

I was appalled to see one of my followers on twitter saying that someone challenged her blackness because of her music choices.

Seriously?

Seriously?

I wish that in 2012, we weren’t still discussing how ‘black’ someone is or isn’t, based on the music they listen to. The movies they have (or haven’t seen). How light or dark their skin is. How they wear their hair. And the list goes on.

I remember in college, at my PWI alma mater, I thought I had to join the Black Student Union on campus, to meet other blacks, because I was black.

Until I realized that I really had no interest in being apart of BSU. And that there was no shame in not being apart of it. So I quit. And felt immediately better afterwards.

I realized that, yes, I am a black woman, but I’m Deidre first and foremost. I like what I like. I do what I do. Don’t ever owe anyone an explanation or apology for that.

I like hip hop and r & b. I also like country, rock, pop, folk, jazz music too. Yes I love Anita Baker. But I also love John Mayer. (The music, not so much the man behind it).

I’ve seen Friday. And Next Friday. And Friday After Next. But I’ve never seen The Color Purple. Nor have I seen Roots (too long). Now what?

I’ve never had chitlins. Never wanted em either. I don’t like watermelon.

These experiences or lack thereof, don’t make me black. The color of my skin, however, does.

I’m quite aware of my skin color, especially when I’m out and about. When I’m at work. I’m aware that I’m a black woman, a double minority. I’m aware of how I must work harder, than my counterparts who aren’t black and/or a woman. I’m aware of my blackness when I am followed in a retail store after telling the associate that I don’t need any assistance. I’m certainly aware of my blackness when someone looks at me, expecting me to fly off the handle and catch an attitude when something goes wrong. You know, because we’re all angry black women waiting to go off on anybody at any given moment when something goes wrong.

I don’t really understand why, as black people, we place each other in boxes. Especially considering, when those outside of our race, do the very same things to us that we hate.

Truth be told, I don’t like anyone placing me in a box. I am young, gifted and black. I am black and I am awesome. I am me.

I like what I like. I talk how I talk (and don’t ever tell me I talk ‘white’…you can’t talk a color). I do what I do. I wear my hair natural because that’s what I prefer.

And it has absolutely nothing to do with the color of my skin.

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Author:

A thirty something city kid from the midwest (born, raised and educated in Ohio!) Urban/Higher Education professional, I love supporting schools and organizations in their efforts to educate urban youth and young adults. I'm also passionate about helping young adults find their purpose and live it out! I'm constantly growing and evolving. I'm a mom to a brilliant active little boy, a proud member of Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority Incorporated, and I'm ready to change the world, one life at a time!

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