Nigger
Nigger I remember the first time I was called that. I was seven years old. Me, my friend Tami, Tami’s brother Jerry and their next door neighbor Summer were all playing outside. I don’t remember what we were playing, but I do remember Tami and I winning; and Summer getting really mad. She said with her glaring eyes and perfect blond hair, “It don’t matter if ya’ll won anyway! Cause all of you are niggers! My mom says you’re all niggers! And you, (she looks at me now and points) you’re bi-racial!” I had never been called this before. But by the way this girl was glaring and pointing at me, I knew that for her, I was the worst thing to be. Me, Tami and Jerry go into the house and tell their Mom. Tami’s Mom looks really upset. “Don’t pay any attention to her,” she tells us. “Because anyone who says ‘nigger’ and ‘bi-racial’ is just stupid.”
My Dad came and picked me up because it was a school night. On the short ride home I told him what had happened. Dad screeched on the breaks of the Toyota. I could feel the anger inside him filling up the whole car. Then he looked over at me. “If anyone, ever calls you nigger again you come and tell me.” “OK” I said. Inside my head I was thinking, “Don’t worry Dad, no one else is going to call me that! I’m not black, I’m white and black”
After he took me home, Dad made a three hour trip to K-Mart. This is a running joke in our family. My parents never fight. If ever there’s a misunderstanding with my parents, or Dad’s just fed up, he says he’s going to K-Mart. But we’re pretty sure (or at least hope) he doesn’t spend the whole time in the tool section at K-Mart. Or hey, maybe he does. Some guys are regulars at bars; maybe Dad’s a regular at K-Mart! The only thing about it is he never comes back with any purchases.
Later that week as Dad is driving me to the pool he abruptly stops the Toyota again and says, “Here’s a song that you and Tami should listen to. It’s by one of the greatest – possibly the greatest – musicians of all time.” He pushes ‘play’ on the tape deck. James Brown’s, I’m Black and I’m Proud starts up. Dad turns the tape up full blast. Oh God. He has clearly planned this. His head is bobbing, his face is beaming. I am shrinking in the passenger seat. I say to myself, “I will never play this old music for Tami. And another thing Dad: why do you want me to be black and proud when I’m not even all the way black?”
I don’t say anything; which is not I think, the response he wants, but is the only one I can give. He starts driving again, the Godfather of Soul still blaring, and drives to the pool. I run out of the car hoping no one sees or hears us. As I’m walking away, I turn and see my Dad, waving. A smile covers his entire face.
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Gotta love Twitter AGAIN…because I reached out on the BB&W Fanpage, which is also hooked up to my Twitter account, about an internship position available, and lo and behold, I meet Sarah.
Take a look at what our daughters will look like, and possibly think like. She has quite a clever one-woman show, and I’m gonna shine her light:
Give a warm welcome to Sarah–one of our new resident BB&W interns.
I went to YouTube to view her stand-up and was unexpectedly delighted by her West Virginia twang. I'm originally from there, have lots of extended family there, etc. When I was 5 my family moved to Michigan's Upper Peninsula. I'd attend school in the UP, then spend summers in Sissonville and Pocatalico with my cousins. Basically, my childhood involved vacillating back & forth between 2 third world countries. I think this was how I learned to become a social chameleon. Being short and unathletic, I had to learn how to survive around two different breeds of rednecks
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