mamas_minion

“What is Your Nationality?”



I am a geek.  For me, that means I’m a fan of anime and Star Wars, and a lot of other miscellaneous sci-fi, and I play regularly with multiple table-top RPG groups.  I’m employed in the IT field; I’m trained as a network security engineer, but for right now I work on a tech help desk.  (It pays the bills.)

Additionally, I enjoy pulp detective novels and fantasy adventure stories.  (I once had a massive comic book collection, also, but that’s an entirely different story.)


I'm well rounded in other areas, too.

I like to hunt and fish, and go hiking, backpacking, and camping.  I’m a lapidarist.  (For most of you, that’s otherwise known as a rock collector, though they’re actually minerals, but we won’t get into that here.)  I’m an accomplished gourmet  (a skill my housemate informed me I was not allowed to leave out of this piece).  I’m good with animals.  I enjoy jazz, blues, and classical music, but I prefer rock & roll to country, hip hop, pop, and R&B.

For the record, I am also African American.


Does that surprise you?

Most people who haven’t met me in person wouldn’t assume that's the case right off the bat.


             “But do you really think of yourself as black?”

This is a question I get asked a lot.  It usually comes in response to my answer to the first question.


When you add together the personal attributes that I’ve listed here, most people don’t feel like they paint a cohesive picture of my race.  At least, not a typical one, anyway.  But, really, what does paint a typical picture of a person’s race?


I’m happy being a geek.  I’m comfortable in my own skin.  I like me.  I’m content with who I am.  And who I am is not entirely determined by my race, or my skin tone, though these things do contribute.  In addressing who I am, I feel it’s more important to note that I am a loving father.  I am a man of integrity.  I’m patient, soft-spoken, and slow to anger.  I speak with thoughtfulness, and act with kindness.   These traits are not a result of my color, or my background, either.  They are a product of the way I was raised.

I split my time growing up between two very different places.  One, a suburb of St Paul, where there are very few people of color, and the other, a small town in Louisiana comprised primarily of African Americans, the majority of whom were in some form or fashion either directly or indirectly related to me.  Growing up in the suburbs may have had something to do with shaping my personality, because I might have unknowingly altered some of what might otherwise been my natural behaviors in order to fit in there, but who I am today was primarily molded by my mother’s influence.  She didn’t want any of her children to be perceived as ghetto.  She wanted us to have the best education, to speak properly, and to have a larger world view than that of the neighborhood we grew up in.  She wanted us to understand our roots.  She required us to read books on the experience of slavery, the American Civil Rights movement, and the accomplishments of notable African Americans in our history.  She wanted us to be connected to our heritage, but more than that, she wanted us to not be limited by our race.

And even that is something of mixed bag.

My Mom’s family is African American and Lakota.  My Dad comes from African American and Cajun  stock.  His paternal grandfather was a lily white, blue eyed Frenchman.  My mom’s paternal grandfather was East Indian.  I am sometimes confused for East Indian, myself.  I’ve been accused of looking Somali, at times – once by my own cousin.  (I should clarify, at the time, I’d straightened my hair – I was going through a phase – don’t judge me, it was the 90s.)  My housemate tells me I should learn an East Indian accent, just because I could get away with it, and maybe use it to avoid stupid questions from time to time.  (However, she also tells me all my attempts so far have been pathetic enough that I should not quit my day job.)

I’m not usually bothered when somebody not of African American descent asks about my nationality.  It bugs me when it comes from someone black, though, because, after I admit honestly to my heritage, almost inevitably, I get the same followup question...

            “Are you ashamed to be black?”

No.  I’m not ashamed to be black.  And, quite frankly, the question itself offends me.  I never know how to answer it.  Because being black isn’t all there is to me.  I’m also not ashamed of my interests.  I’m not ashamed of my tastes.  I’m not ashamed of the personal characteristics that make up what you see as me, even if they don’t conform to your understanding of what it is to be black.

I’m not ashamed of who I am.


I don’t feel the need to act in a certain way to be considered black.  I shouldn’t have to look like a hip hop artist.  I shouldn’t have to speak gangsta.  I shouldn’t need to be mistaken in public for a thug, a hood, or a criminal.  There’s absolutely no reason that my very presence, just because of my skin tone alone, should make anyone feel uncomfortable, and there’s certainly no reason for me to create that level of discomfort unnecessarily in how I present myself.  And just because I have an appreciation for certain hobbies and pastimes more commonly associated with the majority culture, does not mean that I am ashamed of my race, my culture, or my heritage.   I AM ashamed of people who perpetuate the image that would suggest that I can’t be who I am, fundamentally, and not be considered black.  I am ashamed of a sub-culture that would require that to be considered black, one should have to speak in ebonics, maintain legit "street cred," or hang out with the homies from "da 'hood."  If that was what being black is about, then, yes, I would be ashamed of being black.

But that’s not what being black is to me, and I feel sorry for anyone who thinks it is.


When I think of my heritage, I think of Langston Hughes, and the other black poets of the Harlem Renaissance.  I think of Irwin Holmes, one of the first African American students integrated into North Carolina State University, who earned a degree as an electrical engineer.  I think of the Tuskegee Airmen, the first all-black US Air Force unit, who served our country with honors in WWII.  I think of Frederick Douglass, the voice of the abolitionist movement, and the first African American invited to the White House – by Abraham Lincoln, no less – who was not a servant, or a slave.  I think of George Washington Carver, who was born into slavery, but died a noted scientist, a renowned inventor, and a respected educator.  I think of Martin Luther King Jr., and Malcom X, whose accomplishments surely require no explanation.


For me, being black is understanding my heritage well enough to speak intelligently about it, knowing where we’ve come from as a people, what we’ve been through as a people, and what we’ve achieved as a people.  And for that, I am very proud.


I feel most comfortable around people who accept me as who I am.  And those are people who have the most in common with me, and for whom race simply isn’t an issue.  So, the next time a black person asks me if I’m ashamed of being black, I’m going to ask them what they think it means to be black.  And if they can’t give me the right answer, then I’m going to tell them.


LJI WEEK 7:
NO TRUE SCOTSMAN