The Whitest Black Man

 

“You are the whitest Black man, I know” she said with a sly grin as if it was some sort of compliment that I was to respond with a “oh thank, you so much for acknowledging my lack of heritage and my Gap Khaki pants. You are so wise in the area of racial identity and I should salute you”.  

You know so much about how my parents, both from, poor rural families, worked and fought, saved and sacrificed to make sure their children had the opportunities to make a way in this world of the other 82%. 

 They put book in front of me to learn how to better fit in a world where my color would automatically set me out. They showed me how no only to fight with fists, but to win with words. 

They showed my visions of fire hoses, nightsticks and dogs, of a people that stood up for what was right by sitting down. They helped me live a life before me, where a wrong word, or a stray glance could lead to being bruised or broken, in jail or hanging from an old elm.

 A life they lived through, a life they were destined to share to show me how things are different, and yet still the same. then I they taught me the most important lesson of all from all of this, how to stand up for what I believe, to not let anyone make you anything you are not, to make your own choice.  

I learned to look beyond the words of those that may get their understanding of black culture from pop culture, rap videos and the commercials that play only during February and on the UPN. I am not Carlton Banks, nor am I Marcus Garvey. I am not Public Enemy nor am I Charlie Pride, I am not The Cosby Show nor am I Goodtimes. I am not Alan Keys nor am Farrahkhan. I try to take what I can from everything I see to become something more,so if you can’t see past the clothes on my back or the words that come from my mouth, then maybe it’s time for you to see what a black man could be instead of what he should be.