This will probably be an ongoing little segment here on my blog because I find when people annoy me but I can’t say it out loud, I mentally write them little letters like these:
Dear Black Men,
I appreciate that you see me and recognize in me the traits of our “shared” ancestry. Bravo! You win a prize!
However, recognizing this does not in any way shape or form entitle you to accost me. You should not leer, whistle, hiss your teeth, suck your teeth or make any gesture in my direction. It’s rude and disrespectful. You should also not approach me. Call me a pretty girl or ask me about if I have a boyfriend or husband. I don’t know what turnip truck you think I just fell off of but that is not how you address me or any lady!
Dear Ignorant Person,
Please do not ask a question like, “Why do they say Obama is Black, he’s half white?”, in my presence. This causes my blood to boil and makes me want to give you an incredibly harsh history lesson about race.
It makes me want to explain to you that while I am probably paler than you, I consider myself Black.
This is not up for discussion, it’s how I choose to define myself in the face of ignorance and the constant question of, “where are you from?” because I don’t look like everyone else.
My family raised me to believe that no one will have a problem with me being half-white but they will have a problem with me being half-black.