Personal Narrative: My Black Is Showing
“Your black is showing.”
I’ve been made fun of, excluded, and, of course, called a nigger, the timeless classic, but this comment stung the most. It came from my best friend at the time, in computers class. I misunderstood a concept or maybe a joke- I can’t remember now. Since then, I’ve thought of thousands of witty retorts, many of them bitter and malicious, but at the time, I sat in stunned silence. Then I slowly laughed along with him, because that’s what I’d always done. I used to be under the impression that there are two kinds of people. Now I know better.
“Your black is showing.”
I am half black and half Asian, but upon first glance, the only side that is apparent is that I am black- the other half remains a mystery. Before my worth …show more content…
was measured by my intelligence and performance in school, I struggled for so long to be perceived as the “right” kind of black person: speak like a white person, don’t be too loud. If you would’ve asked me back then, I would’ve told you, “There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who can speak correctly and those who cannot.”
“Your black is showing.”
I had prided myself on my intelligence for as long as I could remember.
When I was five years old, my mother told a woman in the supermarket that it did, in fact, make sense for me to have my own watch, because I could, in fact, tell time in spite of my age. I beamed when I came back from Christmas break of first grade already knowing my times tables. I basked in phrases like, “You’re already reading far above the expected standard,” and “You can skip the next grade if you’d like,” and “Most people don’t perform this well on the first try.” I’ve never been an average student. I prided myself not on the fact that I was an exceptional student, but on the fact that I was more exceptional than was expected of my skin color. As could be expected, I was subjected to many “It’s because you’re Asian!” jokes. That stung and infuriated me, because my Asian father was the high school dropout and my black mother was the college graduate with a nursing degree, but I played along. I started bubbling in “Asian” on standardized tests, and if they weren’t so uncomfortable, I would’ve worn contacts to display my eyes, which are my most striking Asian feature. At that time, my answer would’ve been, “There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who are intelligent, and those who are …show more content…
not.”
“Your black is showing.”
With four words, my best friend had undermined everything I had worked for, and I began to truly grow sick of the comments.
I worked harder than ever to get the best grades possible, I stopped going to great lengths to include the Asian tag while introducing myself. I strived to embody the traits of the Acceptable Nigger that you see in movies and on television shows: gets phenomenal grades, speaks the right way, goes to college, the whole nine yards. I bubbled in “black” on my standardized tests. I prided myself on my grades and my work ethic, and it showed, but the day in computers class stayed with me. I wondered how I was supposed to prove myself to be good, to be better, when I was doing everything right and I still couldn’t propel those nasty stereotypes and ugly comments away from myself. I don’t know what I would’ve said are the two kinds of people at this
point.
Now cI know better. I bubble in “other” on my standardized tests and I refuse to choose one identity over the other. There are not two kinds of people. There are seven billion unique identities in this world. Some of us fit our stereotypes, some of us don’t. Some of us fit more of the stereotypes on one side than the other, but it doesn’t make us any less of the other side. Through my grapple with identity, I have come to value my intelligence, my work ethic, my language, and above all, my skin, and not because they either defy or conform to stereotypes. That is no longer a priority. I am proud because they are my most striking traits that make me who I am, not in spite of my skin, but in addition to it.
“Your black is showing.” Damn right, it is. I hope its brilliance makes your eyes pop right out of their sockets.
I’ve been made fun of, excluded, and, of course, called a nigger, the timeless classic, but this comment stung the most. It came from my best friend at the time, in computers class. I misunderstood a concept or maybe a joke- I can’t remember now. Since then, I’ve thought of thousands of witty retorts, many of them bitter and malicious, but at the time, I sat in stunned silence. Then I slowly laughed along with him, because that’s what I’d always done. I used to be under the impression that there are two kinds of people. Now I know better.
“Your black is showing.”
I am half black and half Asian, but upon first glance, the only side that is apparent is that I am black- the other half remains a mystery. Before my worth …show more content…
was measured by my intelligence and performance in school, I struggled for so long to be perceived as the “right” kind of black person: speak like a white person, don’t be too loud. If you would’ve asked me back then, I would’ve told you, “There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who can speak correctly and those who cannot.”
“Your black is showing.”
I had prided myself on my intelligence for as long as I could remember.
When I was five years old, my mother told a woman in the supermarket that it did, in fact, make sense for me to have my own watch, because I could, in fact, tell time in spite of my age. I beamed when I came back from Christmas break of first grade already knowing my times tables. I basked in phrases like, “You’re already reading far above the expected standard,” and “You can skip the next grade if you’d like,” and “Most people don’t perform this well on the first try.” I’ve never been an average student. I prided myself not on the fact that I was an exceptional student, but on the fact that I was more exceptional than was expected of my skin color. As could be expected, I was subjected to many “It’s because you’re Asian!” jokes. That stung and infuriated me, because my Asian father was the high school dropout and my black mother was the college graduate with a nursing degree, but I played along. I started bubbling in “Asian” on standardized tests, and if they weren’t so uncomfortable, I would’ve worn contacts to display my eyes, which are my most striking Asian feature. At that time, my answer would’ve been, “There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who are intelligent, and those who are …show more content…
not.”
“Your black is showing.”
With four words, my best friend had undermined everything I had worked for, and I began to truly grow sick of the comments.
I worked harder than ever to get the best grades possible, I stopped going to great lengths to include the Asian tag while introducing myself. I strived to embody the traits of the Acceptable Nigger that you see in movies and on television shows: gets phenomenal grades, speaks the right way, goes to college, the whole nine yards. I bubbled in “black” on my standardized tests. I prided myself on my grades and my work ethic, and it showed, but the day in computers class stayed with me. I wondered how I was supposed to prove myself to be good, to be better, when I was doing everything right and I still couldn’t propel those nasty stereotypes and ugly comments away from myself. I don’t know what I would’ve said are the two kinds of people at this
point.
Now cI know better. I bubble in “other” on my standardized tests and I refuse to choose one identity over the other. There are not two kinds of people. There are seven billion unique identities in this world. Some of us fit our stereotypes, some of us don’t. Some of us fit more of the stereotypes on one side than the other, but it doesn’t make us any less of the other side. Through my grapple with identity, I have come to value my intelligence, my work ethic, my language, and above all, my skin, and not because they either defy or conform to stereotypes. That is no longer a priority. I am proud because they are my most striking traits that make me who I am, not in spite of my skin, but in addition to it.
“Your black is showing.” Damn right, it is. I hope its brilliance makes your eyes pop right out of their sockets.