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Black Like Me
by
Cinnamon Brown
When I was a
little girl I was very confused. I did not know
quite where I belonged. You see the little black
girls called me names. I was different from them. I
had "good hair" and fair skin. I never needed a
press and curl. I could never wear cornrows and
extensions they would never hold in my hair. I
tried to be friends with these black girls because
I was told that they were my sisters. I introduced
myself, only to be insulted and called "jiggaboo,"
"high yellow," "whitey," "house ni**er ," and the
worst of all, "sell-out." I think the reason why
that one hurt the most was because I had not sold
out to anyone. When I looked in the mirror I did
not see color. I saw a girl looking for acceptance.
Sure I took voice lessons and dance. This is
because I was interested in those things; I was not
trying to be better than my sisters. I cried
because these girls would not even talk to me.
One day I was at the head of my aunt's dinner table
and I was looking around the room. I realized that
my daddy's family that I grew up with did not look
like me. The only person in the room that had my
complexion and my hair was my brother who was also
a product of my white mother. The family was having
a conversation about racial something or other. I
snapped and said "I am not black either." My family
paused and looked at me, but no one said anything.
So in my opinion I assumed I was right. I was not
black and I believed that for a long time. I think
it hit me when I was 13 and a little Jewish boy
called me that ignorant "n" word. It put me back
into the mind of my sisters who called me a house
ni**er. Now both forces were against me.
I went to the library and looked up black people
from the past. And it was only then that I could
place myself. I saw Langston Hughes, Lena Horne,
Duke Ellington, Coretta Scott King, Rosa Parks,
Alex Hailey, Debbie Allen, and Jasmine Guy. They
were all black like me and damn proud to be. I kept
looking at their hair and skin and comparing it to
me. I am just like them. I am black.
That wasn't it though; the real day I knew I was
black was Jan 24,1998 the day my son was born to me
and his Jamaican father. His hair was kinky his
skin was dark his eyes dark brown. Because he is a
product of me, he is black like me.
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