There was a job fair at my school a few days ago. While looking at the Bowling Green University table, I found that I had a common interest with the woman at the table. We talked about our mutual passion for magical clarinet playing. Eventually the conversation ended. I turned around I saw a sign that said, “Welcome Artists!” I doodle myself I thought to myself, so why not. As I made my way to the table the two women pointed out that I looked like a hairstylist. That’s when I realized I had walked to a cosmetology table. Closest to hairstyling I have ever gotten was cutting my friend’s hair at about three in the morning.
The women asked, “What do you want to be when you’re older?” I replied a teacher either English or possibly music; I was unsure. These women were pretty funny, and cool, but they were no longer funny and cool when they took notice of my friend, whom is African American. My friend has this really adorable little afro, so when these ladies saw her they automatically started talking about her, “Oh look at her hair….isn’t it great?” Which was fine by me until they said, “I wish I was black, or African American to have that nice, thick hair.”
“Or Latino.”
“Or Greek!”
“I’d rather be black though!”
“What are you? You have got to be a mix.” They asked me. I replied and said,”I am a mix of African American and Puerto Rican” they quickly replied,”Wow! I would love to be your skin color.”
I know these are seen to compliments in their eyes, but not quite.
You do not want to be black.
You do not want to be raised to be careful when you wear a hoodie.
You do not want to be raised to be told that you cannot play with toy guns, because it is your skin they are looking at when police shoot, not the detail of the gun.
You do not want to be raised so that it is always, “yes sir, no sir” when pulled over. NO COMPLAINING! Keep both hands on the steering wheel. Get out of the car when told. Alway put your hands up, or you’ll be like the last black guy and get nine unnecessary shots through the chest. You can state your rights, but they might not be taken seriously.
You do not want to be raised for people to call you white when you are polite.
You do not want to be raised for people to call you white when you do not listen to rap music.
You do not want to be raised to hear, “Well, you’re black so you wouldn’t know.”
You do not want to be categorized as a thug, or gang member from those who do not know you.
You do not want to be underestimated because of your skin.
You do not want to feel less connected because people would rather put the African American race down than help it build up.
And might I just add, you do not want our hair. It is a pain in the ass.
