Malcom X

For as far back as I can remember I’ve been accused of acting white. I first heard the term Oreo in 6th grade, you know, black on the outside, white on the inside? I cringed after someone explained the meaning of the makeshift derogatory term to me. Deep down I think I knew my love for Tori Amos lyrics and all things Spice Girls qualified me as a first class Oreo in whatever school I happen to be starting that year. Since my mother and I moved around a lot I was always the new girl in school. I kept to myself most of the time but when I did happen to open my mouth it was apparent to everyone: I talked like a white girl. The latest slang or rap lyrics didn’t roll off my tongue as easily as it did for my classmates. Oftentimes I was the odd girl out and as a result, gravitated towards kids who shared similar interests, which usually meant white girls.
It wasn’t just my peers who noticed either. Growing up I can remember so many times when I was sat down by my father to discuss my behavior, my social circle, and the music I was listening to. He would relay instances from his youth in which white friends of his had done him wrong. In 5th grade I fell in love with Hanson and started pasting posters up on my wall. I remember the anxiety I felt when I was told flat out if I ever brought home a mixed baby or a white boyfriend I would be disowned. I remember feeling the same waves of anxiety when my father started ordering college brochures for me from historically black colleges.
Often times I wondered why I just wasn’t free to be myself? Why did I have to be a certain way, listen to a certain type of music, or speak a specific way? When I was 18 I fell in love with a girl. A white girl. By that time my father had eased up and we no longer argued about all of the reasons I wasn’t black enough. Still, I was scared to tell him about Barbara, my first girlfriend. What would he think, of her, of me? We went to prom together and I wanted them to both meet for dinner after my high school graduation. He said yes but then backed out and gave me a 20 dollar bill instead. She and I went to a diner on our own. I don’t think they ever met.