I wasn’t always proud of my African-American heritage. When I was a kid, I didn’t want to be black. I wasn’t ashamed of my color. I didn’t know about racism. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be “black”. Seeing how I am black, you can see how this was a bit of an issue…
Wait, let’s start at the beginning…
Who am I?
I don’t believe that anyone is born cognizant of their racial identity, but at some point (whether you realize it or you have to be told) a person has to come to terms with who they are. I fell into the latter category, someone had to tell me.
I don’t know exactly where I first got the idea that “black” existed or that I wasn’t black. Perhaps it had something to do with my personality being different from the rest of the kids in my neighborhood. Maybe it was because I had lighter skin, green eyes and blond hair. Maybe my grandmother said something about somebody being too dark. Maybe it was that I identified with the white characters in the books I read and the shows I watched. I don’t remember why I thought black was such a bad thing. I don’t know because I don’t remember, but I do know that at some point I learned that there was a difference between black and not-black and that I’d assumed that I was was in the “not-black” category.
When I drew pictures of myself, I drew a white child. I referred to my classmates as “those black kids.” I was different from them in my mind’s eye. This couldn’t possibly end well for young Tweezy.
The Truth Hurts
My mother very curtly put an end to that nonsense. (She loves to tell this story to my friends.) One day, after I’d explained to her that “a black girl pulled my blond hair,” my very startled mom explained to me that I was, in fact, a Negro. What?! Nooo!
I don’t want to say that I was devastated, because I wasn’t. I wasn’t old enough to really be devastated or to understand what was going on, but I was disappointed. I don’t know why. I don’t feel that I should have been, but some part of me had either been taught or had decided that I didn’t want to be black.
Being armed with this new knowledge of my racial identity didn’t really change me that much. I didn’t really stop thinking that I was different. A switch wasn’t suddenly flipped that caused me to identify with black culture. The fact that this was even an issue is strange because I’ve lived my whole life in a house/neighborhood full of black people! My brother grew up in the same house as I did and he never seemed to have any of these conflicts.
To be continued…
Bear in mind, that all of this is occurring during the first half of elementary school. This isn’t even the good part! As time passed and I grew into my awkward teen years, I grew more confused and isolated. Of course, eventually I came to terms with my issues (so much so that I co-founded a blog about black culture and issues, LOL.) But I’m out of time, so I’ll revisit this topic tomorrow.
Note: I try not to post too much personal stuff to brilliantbrown, because it’s not my personal blog. But I feel that this series is relevant as it deals with black issues and racial identity. With that in mind, I encourage our readers to discuss this issue as you would any black issue we bring up on the site.
ok ok ok ok… i get that comming into some sort of self realization about how one views themself and that it is an important part of development, but i’m rather curious about this whole concept concerning some objective fact (”my mom told me that i was in fact a Negro”). my main sorce of contest can be best illustrated through a parallel example concerning sexual identity.
some people feel that individuals realize what sort of gender role, or
sexual role that they fit into rather then understanding the role that has been assigned to them:
A. I feel like a man who is attracked to women.
B. I feel like a man who is attracked to men.
C. I feel like a woman who is attracked to me.
D. I feel like a woman who is attracked to women.
E. All of the above.
Despite the fact that humans are born with a certain set of biological features, they still have a period in time where they ascribe to some sort of category. if it were in fact some sort of yes or no answer which someone outside of yourself could point out to you, then there would be no period of self realization. the individual would simply understand the preordained nature of their sexuality and go on. Transexuals, for example look like one sex (biologically speaking) but actually feel as though they are not what they seem. they don’t feel like they are what their body parts dictate, but instead they feel the exact opposite. does this mean that they are simply confused or does it mean that they simply realize that the suite that people are given upon birth doesn’t necessarily dertermin how they are to act or percieve themselves.
Now that the example has come full circle and the parallel can be seen, how is it that one can be informed that they are infact a member of a “race”? the idea of defining oneself based on a vague amalgum of hereditarily endowed traits seems to be a bit confused.
the progression of life seems to be something more concerned with self-discovery rather than self realization.
To clarrify my question: can one’s racial identity be something that is explained them, or is it something that they figure out on their own?
This is a tough one to comment on, but very interesting.. So I’ll start with a quote from the last commenter..
“the progression of life seems to be something more concerned with self-discovery rather than self realization”
- don’t know if i completely buy that being the two are directly related..
Race is usually not something that your told, but something that as a young child you perceive through the perceptions surrounding you. Weather those perceptions are spawned from hate, public opinion and stereotypes or from support, love and freedom to be yourself.
In fact its important to perceive who you are in the latter environment. Its the only way to realize what your function is in the grand scheme of things. When someone tells you WHO you are, they are in fact telling you WHAT you can be, because Who is but the form following the function of what. And being in this time and age what you are is free to choose what contribution you give to the world..(Brilliantbrown is a good start!)
So my opinion is that your racial identity has nothing to do with who and what you are. And if thats the case the fact you were ‘disappointed’ as a young child to realize this says you (again as a very young child) probably were surrounded by some negative connotations of what being black was. With touching on the background I grew up in I could dig deeper on that, but I’ll finish with this. If someone tells you what race you belong to or if you figure that out yourself, it doesn’t and shouldn’t change the fact of your uniqueness.
sorry for the long post, but wanted to comment on such a brave and personal post put out there. I’ve also struggled with the question of identity at an early age but in a different, but related situation. Maybe a good post down the road is: What makes the most impact on who you are? Your race or your environment.
i like the differentiation that you put forward about the difference between who and what you are being related, but not he same. However, the line that seperates the two seems to be far less than a bright one.
when the idea of race is mentioned in the context of “self identity” what does it mean? does it mean that you are simply that your skin posses a certain pigment, or does it instead reflect a certain (and probably far too generalized) set of characteristics? for if that latter is true then it does both of the aformentioned actions; them being telling you not only what you are but also a part of who you are.
further evidence of this comes from the former posting: “Race is usually not something that your told, but something that as a young child you perceive through the perceptions surrounding you. Weather those perceptions are spawned from hate, public opinion and stereotypes or from support, love and freedom to be yourself.”
young tweezy was, in fact “shocked” when he was INFORMED that he was black (there are obviously some percieved negative conotations about what it is to be black in the context). he was informed by his mother after he had “othered” another young child that he too was black, and if i am reading the content in the correct tenor his mothers identifying statement wasn’t just one of skin color, but of identity as well. up an to this point young tweezy had not percieved himself to be part of the same group as that young girl, he had instead placed himself somewhere else. his perceptions seemed to have been misguided until his mother set him straight.
so, does it mean that since he had percieved himself to be a certain way that he was indeed that way, or does it mean that he simply had a false impression of who he was?
i apologized for being overly verbose so i’ll try to summarize my main question again: is a person’s self-identification actually something that they form and mold over the course of their life time or is it something objective that they discover as they go whereby they can have their perceptions corrected.
ps: thank you for the response and the blogging. i am not black but i think that it is important to have discourse on such things so that people understand eachother more fully. thank you for starting such an intellectual, open, and matter of fact blog.
First up, Thanks to Halo and Wole for taking the time to read and to share you opinions and ask your questions.
In hindsight, I think I can really attribute my feelings of racial confusion to a few factors:
1. Perceived characteristics of blacks. When you watched television or read books in the late 80s/early 90s, the black characters are almost always the athletic and cool cats. They were always spinning a basketball on their finger and speaking in rhyme. That’s not necessarily the case in the 21st century but the cultural landscape has changed quite a bit. Back to the point, I didn’t fit that mold, so I suppose it wasn’t a huge jump for a childlike mind to oversimplify the situation.
2. My parents didn’t really make a big deal about race. I wasn’t really discussed in my household. I suppose some black people grow up hearing their parents talk about white people and black people and the differences in cultures, but it didn’t really get discussed in my household.
3. In the second grade, I was admitted into the gifted program and once a week I went to a different school to learn. The racial balance of the gifted class was very different from my zoned school. There were mostly white students in that class and I got along with them better than I did with my regular classmates. Again, it’s not too much of a stretch for a child’s mind to assume that he’s more like the white students in that situation.
I don’t know how unique or common my situation growing up was, but I kinda felt like I needed to share it. I think you guys will be interested in hearing about my middle school years when I finish the next article.