Black Like Me

Although I was born in Detroit, Michigan, I don’t remember our house since we moved to a small town in Massachusetts when I was 2.  We settled into a nice house on Belanger Drive.

 

 The neighborhood was wonderful for children.  We were close to the main road but far away enough that we could run in the street.  In the 80s kids were still allowed to run around without adult supervision, no play dates necessary.  I climbed trees, rolled down hills into the street, ate strange berries, went over friends’ houses without my parents, rode in the back of pickups without a seat belt, didn’t wear a helmet when I rode a bike, reenacted the Olympics by using our neighbor’s fence as a balance beam, watched cartoons every Saturday while eating sugary cereal, and played dress up with my mom’s clothes.  I had a great childhood.  My siblings and I used to stay outside all day playing our pretend games.  Our parents didn’t care where we went as long as we stayed “between the mailboxes”.  

My best friends were Lisa and Gina twins who lived a few houses away.  I can close my eyes now and recite all the kids from my childhood; Chris, Neil, Timmy, Debbie, Tara, Noah, Sean, BJ, Heather, Rob, Jackie, Anecia, Adam, Jerry and so on.  Fridays and Saturdays were reserved for sleepovers.  We had dance classes and soccer games on the weekends. Friends loved to receive an invite to our house because of junk food days and my father’s fantastic breakfasts.  Crepes, biscuits, French toast, pancakes, bacon, sausage were a few of the menus items we saw on Sundays; all homemade from scratch.  Once in a while, Dad would make delicious salt water taffy.  I can still remember the taste of crisp apples, plain donuts, and spiced apple cider from our trips to the Big Apple and the sweet taste of ice cream from The Ice Cream Machine.  

Best Ice Cream EVER!!

Yummy donuts and cider too!

Our town was 96% white so we stood out as one of the few black families.   Anecia and Adam lived on the next street and Melanie was in my dance class.  Other than those few people, I cannot remember seeing any other black families during my childhood.  Race wasn’t a big deal.  I knew our family with a white mother and black father was different but I didn’t see the differences until I was older.  

In high school, race issues started creeping in when I started being interested in boys.  I always thought I was ugly because I couldn’t get the attention of certain boys.  I never realized until much later in my life, boys at my school weren’t interested in black girls.  However, whenever my best friend, Anna, and I went to clubs, I had black guys paying me a lot of attention.  Throughout high school, I worked at a movie theater.  Once when we had some particularly disagreeable customers, the n word was used.  The exact sentence was, “I’m sorry Natalie but some people are just ni**ers.”  This was uttered by someone white.  Truthfully, I was not equipped with the words to take issue with that statement.  

Since our immediate environment was all white, all of my friends were white and most television shows featured white people, I did not know how to handle racism when it reared its ugly head.  The most notable exception was The Cosby Show but they lived in a very tolerant society that appeared color blind.  My parents did not specifically sit us down and explain how mean people could be.  In the 80s, people of color were almost invisible. 

Having a white mother has brought me some unwanted attention from black and white alike.  People have assumed that I am adopted.  Heads turned when we went to see Boys in the Hood together.

I have been teased that I must get my dancing skills from my mother.  I have been told that I am too dark.  I have been told that I am too light.  I have been told that I have thick lips and big hips.  I have been told that I have no lips and no butt.

I was in high school as the only black senior when the beating of Rodney King happened.  I had to sit through class after class while my classmates explained why he deserved the beating.  I was told that black people can’t play hockey because we are missing an ankle bone.  Someone even asserted that black people have an extra muscle in our legs which is why we are so good at basketball.  During high school, I was constantly reminded that I was different but I stood alone. 

My awakening occurred when I went away to college.  Black students only made up 3% of the population but to me it felt there were tons of black people on the campus.  I was amazed by the variety and different background of everyone.  I quickly joined a multicultural group.  I even participated in a sit-in.  Although I had friends, I had no one close I could really talk to.  Many people considered me naïve when it came to racial issues.  I said many incorrect things because of my ignorance. I was educated by Malcolm X, John Howard Griffin, Martin Luther King, Angela Davis, Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, and many more.

I transferred to another college after a few years.  The college was a small conservative college.  Again I found myself one of the few people of color on the campus.  This time I was armed with knowledge. When racism came into my life, I was able to handle the issues better than I had previously. 

One biracial girl in college truly understood how I felt.  We had long discussions that we are not “just” black but not “half” black either.  She knew the position of being firmly stuck between two worlds.  Understanding both, loving both but belonging to neither.  Once she and I went to a basketball game.  A white student looked at an Asian student and said, “Oh, Ni**er.”  She and I looked at each other in disbelief. Then we went and explained to them how we considered that word offensive (ok…she did most of the talking).  They apologized. 

After graduation, I went to work in an inner city school.  There I was exposed to extreme poverty.  Many of my students only ate at school.  Many did not come to school with any supplies.  A few came dirty and smelling of cat feces. Some were abused. I was threatened by both students and parents. I met children who truly believed they were nothing and did not believe in education.  Imagine being in the third grade and giving up on life.  

Suddenly I was thrust into the position of authority and having the responsibility of being a role model.  I was determined to show the little girls what they could be.  They did not have to drop out and make babies with whoever showed any interest.  I made them aware of the American heroes who looked like them.  I met wonderful teachers many of whom could relate to my story. 

When I met my husband, I knew he could understand the core of me.  He was born in America but raised in Nigeria.  For the first time, I met a man I could relate to on all levels.  We can discuss politics, current events, favorite songs, and authors.  He has never teased me who I am or how I was raised.  

                My childhood and school experiences have helped me make some very deliberate choices for Kyle and Tara.  They are surrounded by people who are educated and look like them.  In our family alone, we have a three college professors, a nurse, an elementary school teacher, a mother who home schools her children while writing, a director/writer, an administrator of a large management company, a marketing coordinator, and a high school senior who is on his way to college.  They are blessed enough to have one great grandmother who is still alive. At our church, they are further exposed to people they can emulate.  They are told they are beautiful and loved constantly.  

                Large companies have realized that there is a demand for multicultural products.  Early on, I searched Amazon for books that reflected their culture.  I use mirror-window approach to literature.  Mirror means books that reflect who they are and window means books that reflect the dominant or other cultures.  They are exposed to a variety of music from Najia tunes, gospel music, Alicia Keys, Michael Jackson, Beyonce, Bach and Beethoven.  Tara loves her dolls that look like her. 

                Teachers now expose children to other nationalities.  Tara and Kyle attend a school with only 2% black people.  However, they are equipped with tools to handle ignorant comments and comments are not tolerated by their educational environment.  Last year, two kids picked on Kyle and one kid even called him a monkey.  The situation was handled immediately by the adults.  Tara has been the target of a little girl’s teasing about her hair.  Even though she cried, she knows how beautiful she is.  She knows that she is special.  Her teacher is aware of the teasing and has helped ease the “girl drama.”  

Today, raising kids to be proud of their heritage is easier. When Tara and I were looking for a lunch box this year, she pointed to a fairy bag and said, “How about that one, Momma?  That fairy is black like me.”