Black Woman In America: Don’t Hijack Me

Mental film making day…

Take 1.

Somebody woke up this morning and assumed that because of the color of my skin, that I am okay with a black celebrity attacking a photographer at LAX.

I am not.

Somebody woke up this morning and assumed that because of the color of my skin, that I’m okay with “black-on-black” crime statistics.

I am not okay with crime.

Somebody woke up this morning and thought that because of the color of my skin, that me being a single mother contributes to the high incarceration rate of black males in this country.

Listen.

I’m allowed to walk away from a relationship that did not work. But WE (notice I said we – me and my ex) made the best of four life changing years. My son is loved by both of his parents, his step-mother, and his three half-siblings too.

Somebody woke up this morning and assumed that because of the color of my skin and my gender that I roll my eyes and twist my neck when angered.

Nope, I’m really quiet. But, I will go all Ida B. Wells on you. Black women are rarely connected to real women warriors.

Somebody woke up this morning and assumed that because of the color of my skin, that I only see the world in black vs. white.

Alright.

It’s true, in one of my parents’ wedding photos, the eyes can see that there were a lot of white attendees. My parents got married in 1970. Oakland, CA at – my grandparents house. Both of my parents are black.

It’s also true, that growing up as a little girl my choice of dolls were always black dolls with silky long hair or white dolls with silky long hair.

And it’s true, that I graduated from a predominately white college – CSU, Chico.

But,

Five of my half siblings are Korean and Black…

I have cousins that are German and Black…

I clutch my person tighter around suspicious individuals of any race…

I have been viewed as an educated professional and a black woman with a job…

My heart bleeds red…

The color of my tears are clear…

Aurora. Trayvon. Uncle Vance…

Take 2.

My Uncle Vance.

My late uncle always dated outside of his race. Married a white woman and never looked back.

My late uncle also died at the hands of drug dealers. His wife owed them money. She was also a witness to my uncle’s assault by the drug dealers. Baseball bat to the head. Left him brain dead. Crime never solved. Where is the protest in that? Was my family left with injustice? Or just a funeral and death threats?

So, please stop assuming that because of the color of my skin, that I “don’t this” and I “do that” in order for you to green light your racial marginalization of me.

Don’t hijack me.

The end.

Roll credits.

image

(c) 2013

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