Here's a thread about notions of blackness, introverted insecurity, and a recent experience that transformed the way I see the world and myself in it:
I grew up in New Orleans in a middle class family in a two parent home. For a brief time, I went to a predominately African-American school where many of the students had experiences that I simply did not have. Many of them grew up in public housing, did not have fathers, etc.
As a result of parental influence I had been raised to value & deeply love education. I was considered to be a nerd by some. But others went further in their insults and accused me of acting "white" because I turned in assignments or was excited about them. (esp. English lit)
(Now what's ironic is that I was excited about English lit because I wanted to be like Maya Angelou and other great African-American poets who I had been forced to memorize since I was basically six. But that's a bit of a side note that I'll come back to later.)
Because I was taunted by my peers and accused of being white, I grew extremely resentful. And to the extent that I became resentful of them, I became resentful of their *experiences. They had otherized me & questioned whether I was "one of them" so I felt inclined to do the same
Because they had defined "blackness" as one monolithic set of experiences, I began to hate the very idea of those experiences. A certain type of condescending attitude began to grow inside of me to the point that later in life, I simply failed to see those who had labeled me.
And by "fail to see" I mean I would ignore people who fit the stereotypical image of the people who otherized me in high school. Whenever Id encounter them. My insecurity was such that I assumed that if I began to speak they would simply prejudge me. So I prejudged them.
Isn't it funny how it always works this way> By "fail to see" I mean I didn't fully take in their existence as we would encounter each other in the street or elsewhere. The encounter reminded me of the bitterness I felt when being otherized & I didn't want to feel that way again.
Somewhere along the way I started revisiting some of Maya Angelou's writings and interviews. One thing that really moved me was her insistence that we tell black youth --especially troubled black youth that we so desperately need them, that they are valued and that they are loved
Growing up, there was a bit of a dilemma inside me. On the one hand I had a great deal of pride in my people's culture; but simultaneously some of those people were telling me I wasn't one of them. You can imagine such a dilemma and how stinging it must have felt.
But Maya Angelou's words stayed with me. To fast forward to the present, I started volunteering with an organization that mentors kids whose parents are incarcerated. All of these kids are minorities. We do homework tutoring with them, athletic activities and other programs.
To put it mildly, these kids have been through shit. The worst of the worst. They've seen dead bodies, they've been sexually abused, etc. yet in this program we demand the best of them because we so fervently believe that they can overcome and already are over-comers.
And we shower them with love and put into action what Maya Angelou spoke about years ago: the importance of showing our young people that we believe in them. Especially those who haven't been told often enough that we believe in them and we need them.
As you can imagine, working with these kids has really transformed me. I have begun to *SEE* those who I neglected to see growing up because of the feeling of shame it brought me for making me feel different. But I now realize I have a very important role to play as a model.
And once I began to see, or fully take in the existence of, the young people around me today who are in high school or younger and who come from broken homes or difficult upbringings, that is when I began to realize how beautiful and full of potential they truly are.
Fin.
Fin.
