I’m black.

Just in case you didnt know that I was black, that was a news flash for you. I remember my uncle, who I refer to on this blog only as Asshole, once asked me did I know I was black. I replied ‘I’m fairly sure.’ This was a mistake of gigantic proportions because at this point I was forced to hear his rhetoric about being “fairly sure.” How coud I just be fairly sure? How can I not know. The white man sure as hell knows. Im sitting here with the rights that great civil rights leaders FOUGHT so hard for because the knew they were black and I’m just fairly sure.

Asshole obviously doesn’t get sarcasm.

I replied I was “fairly sure” because I was in so much shock that he would ask such a stupid question that I answered it with disbelief which was obviously mistaken for confusion.

I remember another time that me and Asshole argued, because arguing is my family’s way (In the White household if you didnt argue then you must think that the other person is just stupid and not worthy of your breath), I reffered to my mother as…ahem…’Mother’. I was told that I was obviously trying to be white because only ‘white kids’ refer to their mothers as mother. Black kids say ‘Mama’ or ‘Ma’.

Can we see that Asshole isn’t bright?

My mother would often argue his intelligence. ‘White’s are smart.’ She would say. Which was an amazingly ironic choice of words considering our constant arguements over black and white issues and my families over zealous although culturally appropriate stance of black superiority. I was told on many occasions that if I were to ‘..ever bring a white girl home…’ that my mother would take her on a walk through Marcy Projects. For those of you unfamiliar with Marcy Projects, I suggest you pick up an early Jay Z album and you’ll hear tales of street woe and sorrow mixed in with a gangsta’s swagger about the dangerous housing project known as Marcy.

What was my mothers issue with white people? More specifically, me dealing with a white girl?

My mother always made the arguement that She raised a ‘Strong black man for a strong black woman’ which, in yet another ironic twist has completely and totally backfired. I’ve never dated a black woman. Not because I haven’t wanted to. I’ve been totally smitten by quite a few black women but the feelings are not normally mutual. In a wrather strange twist of fate, the one thing my mother wanted for me so much was the one thing that I’ve never had.

In her old age (she’s not old at all but I like to tease her) she says she’s prepared herself for the white girls. Which is great because lo and behold, I happen to be dating one now. She feels that I do things like this to spite her.

‘But Mother, I’m in my late 20’s. I’m not that interested in spiting you’

‘You’ll say anything just to spite me.’

This is how our conversations go.

So for those white folk who happen to be reading this and are sometimes mortified at your parents veiws and actions to you dating other races, know this. Parents of other races? Not so happy about you either.

And scene.

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