Confessions of an Oreo: What I would tell my eleven year-old self

Picture a gym filled with 30 or so middle-schoolers dressed out in black and white P.E. gear sitting on bleachers. Picture awkward tweens laughing and giggling with their friends. I was about 11 years old at the time and that’s exactly what I was doing. Out of the blue, a black girl walks up to my group of friends (of which I am the only non-biracial black person), points out the one biracial kid in the group, calls out his name, and says, “You act so white.” I confusingly respond with my untamed, middle-school sarcastic humor, “Well, he is half white.” A few of the kids in the group laugh. The girl cuts her eyes at me and says with an intense neck roll, “Courtney, you act white, too."  The dichotomy between the melanin in my skin and her remarks further confuse me. I ask for clarification. As she begins to explain to me that the way I talk and who I hang around were not indicative of “being black,”  our gym teacher, as if it was scripted,  interrupts with a “Alright, class let’s get started.”

That was the first time I realized that I wasn't who people would call the "typical" black girl. I realized in the 7^th grade that my life experience, my family’s culture, and our values were not like that of a lot of other black families. I started to realize that the “black culture” that I identified with, wasn’t really what other people were experiencing. I noticed that while I was listening to the Dixie Chicks and Taylor Swift, a lot of the other black kids were listening to Jim Jones’ “We Fly High” and hitting the corresponding dance move (Want to know how out of the loop I was? I didn’t even know Jim Jones made that song until just now when I googled it. No lie *No pun intended*). I started noticing that something about me was different….very different.

Faced with the choice of either hanging out with the black kids or the white kids, I tried so hard to be “black.” I figured I can’t change my skin color to fit my friends’; so, let me change my preferences to fit in with the people that look like me. I tried and the performance was, at all times, comical (for the lack of a better word).

Fast forward to today, I’ve lived through all the “Oreos” and “why-you-act-so-whites” you can imagine. I quickly learned how to retaliate to those labels, often times using sly remarks to cite the “name-callers” inability to make their subjects and verbs agree as their reason for calling me “white.”  Since then, I’ve observed how we (including me) tend to make innocent, neutral preferences be forms of “white culture” that should be either strongly disdained by the black people who are “down” with the struggle or religiously pursued by the black “sell-outs” who should be shunned.

Neither of which is true.

Let me be clear. There are certain aspects of the black experience that act as a common thread between all black people. At the same time, it’s important to understand that there are differences among black people. I’ll say it like this: Black culture is a smorgasbord, not a single dish. It’s a cohesive Christmas family meal, not just your Aunt’s potato salad. Stated another way, your Aunt's potato salad is black culture but black culture is not your Aunt's potato salad (That’s a really terrible example…lol, but you get it).

This entire ordeal I went through (dare I say “go through”) taught me 2 things:
1) There’s a difference between class and race (Don’t know how many times I can say that).
2) Just be yourself.

Honestly, it boils down to the second prong. JUST BE YOURSELF. Be what and who God called and created you to be. It sounds so cliché, but it’s so very true. We hear it and agree with it, but we don’t truly comprehend it.

As long as they aren’t going against His word, you can be sure that your preferences and passions came from God. Those little things that make you you will prove to play important roles in who you will become and, as such, should be walked in boldly.

1 Corinthians 12:14-18 illustrates that, while we may be members of one body, all of us aren't the same body parts. While the scriptures deal with the spiritual body of Christ (and by “body of Christ” I mean Christ’s people, the church), it’s pretty applicable here, too. We, as black people, may make up black culture’s “body,” but we’re not all the hand. We’re not all the feet. Yet, no body part is more important or more needed than the other. We all just play our role…if we just be ourselves. (The same can be true on a much broader scale, too. No two humans are the same. We’re all different, given how we deal with those differences is a conversation in itself.)

I wish I could go back and explain that to my confused 11-year old self.

I imagine the convo would go a little something like this:

“There’s no "sound" to being black. There’s no “right” way to be black. Anyone who attempts to tell you that there's some kind of special criteria to be black, outside of just being, is a product of their own ignorance. You’re black and, therefore, everything you do, by default, is a legitimate portrayal of what black people do. Every degree you get will be a legitimate portrayal of what black people do. Every television broadcasting competition you win will be a legitimate portrayal of what black people do. Every art museum you visit will be a legitimate portrayal of what black people do. Every book you read will be a legitimate portrayal of what black people do. Every theatre competition you compete in (and win) will be a legitimate portrayal of what black people do. Every one of your jam sessions consisting of Krystal Meyers, Carrie Underwood, and Barlow Girl will be a legitimate portrayal of what black people do. Every time you go to church, you will be offering the world, yet another, legitimate portrayal of what black people do. Listen, just be yourself and give yourself a shot, no caveats and no disclaimers. 

P.S. I know you don't want to go and you won't believe this, but...Yes, you do end up going to law school. I know, crazy. I still can't believe it.“