What it Means, Part 1: To be Black

My parents are black. So am I. End of story.

So I should know right? What this all means? Well, I can't say I do. And I can't speak for everyone. Just myself on what being black is for me.

To me, to be black is to have people mistrust you, look at you weird when you go into a store, lose opportunities, and a slew of other discriminatory things. Except, not exactly. You see, I don't fit the profile. I speak Standard English in a voice very unlike any other black person, or man, not because my voice is unique, but just because I've always been different from what people would readily assume as "black." I wear a belt and my jeans fit in the right places, not hanging half past my ass. I wear t-shirts that fit, not shirts that look like night gowns. I listen to pop, rock, Japanese, almost everything but rap and modern hip-hop. I don't fit the profile.

Among my black peers, I struggle to find a meeting ground, unless they are like me, in that way that people would call me white-washed and make fun of how I talk. Indeed in the way they have. I don't identify with them on that "black" level, because I don't talk like they do, I don't listen to the music they do.

For me, being black is a new kind of separation. I don't relate and sometimes I find it hard to. I see black people on campus, in the cafeteria, in public and I see how they dress, how they act. I'm not loud, I'm not ridiculous, I don't yell and cuss at people when they make me mad. I don't like to make a scene, and I don't like being opinionated, out loud anyway, to the point where people turn and look at me through the periphs, wondering "What the hell is he doing?" Seeing how the black community acts, the one that reaches the media and the public mind you, I feel contempt. It makes me ashamed that my ancestors worked hard in the fields, my grandparents tried their best to support large families, and my mom was just part of the statistic of young, unwed, high school mothers. Not because of these facts, but because black people my age don't acknowledge that. Or, they appear not to. A lot of the things black people do I find ridiculous, crazy. I shouldn't be able to guess the color of a person's skin based on how they are acting in public.

I have to start to understand who black people are in relation to me, despite the fact that a lot of the things they do are "vexing" in the words of Huey. In truth, black people act a damn fool sometimes and I hate it. But it's wrong of me to expect them to act like me, like my parents raised me right (I'll admit that was a low blow but it's true).

What I've found, though, is that when I try to reach them, or anyone else, along other lines, or without any lines at all is when I find that kinsmanship. It's where I find that, as people, we relate. Relativity stretches across many lines: philosophy, psychology, experience. That's how I become close to people. When I start realizing that what it means for me to be black and what it means for someone else to be black don't matter. It's what it means for both, or many, of us to be human.

I approach you from an incredibly idealistic point of view, but I'd have it no other way. For me to be black does not mean embracing my heritage, or listen to rap, or try to rise above history, or struggle. That's what it means for me to be me. I'm just realizing who I am, and being black does not DEFINE that, it is only a PART of that.

Monnie was right, you can't make a news show about what it means to be black in America, because you can only appeal to so many people. That one will always be left out, and that isn't right. What you can do is make a show about what it means for YOU to be black in America, instead of expecting EVERYONE to relate.