Ummm. Okay. Thank you for confirming what I see in the mirror on a every day basis. It’s a no brainer my mother and father were black not sure about the exact percentage I need to take a heritage DNA test. I get taken back by some black men when they find out I’m into dating outside of my race they always feel the need to remind me of what my race is. Whatever dude.

Some black men need to think of how it comes off when they say “but you’re still black”. As if there’s some invisible obligation clause black women can’t see like sister you’re chained to us for life. Sista you are subjected to being disrespected, a struggling single parent and lots of turmoil remember you are black. It is really frustrating because many black people fought for our rights to be seen as individuals beyond our color. Yes I am black but that’s only a small fraction of who I am. Some black people think really small it’s okay for people to be themselves and Not follow a trend. I used to say that I was different but that’s far from the truth. I am Tameeka simple as that. I am me. The world would be a much better place if people would walk into their chosen purpose without fear. There is freedom in being who God called you to be.

I’m not sentenced to do what people of my race sees fit for me to do. They can call me names like coon and sellout it’s just a control tactic that I won’t fall for. I’m not alone when it comes to these feelings it’s refreshing too. It’s always amazing to me when some black men speak of racism yet treat their own women like dirt. It’s a new day and age people are being true to themselves and dealing with people who celebrate them not tolerate them.

 

 

 

 

 

4 thoughts on “But You’re Still Black”

  1. This made me smile! Tough times in America, and smiles are welcome. I told a psychologist once that I was never comfortable in my own skin, but that wasn’t totally true. But give it a couple of thousand years, and the world and I might get along more comfortably together. I’m enjoying your work.

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  2. Two thumbs up here.

    I’ve never understood the attitudes a lot of folks having differences or that because I’ve happen to have a certain last name, I should act this way. Part of that might stem from the fact that my ancestors were run out of almost decent country around, and the rest were waiting here to scalp them. Somehow, they managed to get along well enough and at least long enough to produce me.

    When people ask where my ancestors came from I often look at them and say, “it’s easier for me tell you where they didn’t come from”. I’ve traced my ancestry back to Lebanon and Israel, Spain, Portugal, Ireland, Scotland, Germany, France, and Egypt. On this side of the ocean, I’ve a great grandmother from way back in the 1700s who was the daughter of a Cherokee and an emancipated black man (who unfortunately I can find the first name, but nothing else about. Seems he became part of the tribe and adopted their name for him). This part of the Cherokee nation mixed so efficiently with white settlers that they were never sent out on the trail of tears. They stayed, and raised cotton in North Carolina.

    One of the oddest twists I found in researching my family was one of Great grandparents. The family story I’d always heard was that during the Civil War he’d spent almost the whole war in a Union Prison camp. Now the POW system during the civil war was a bit of a disaster, and in going through the records, I never once found a mention of him (you’d think spending 4 years in it he’d have shown up at least once).

    Then one day, surprise. I was looking in the wrong army. Despite being from North Caolina, he didn’t join up with the confederacy but the Union. Because he could read, write, and knew basic math, he was made an officer and served with the Union Army as a quartermaster.

    Where the story came from that he was a Confederate Infantryman, I don’t know. I think he made it up to keep from getting beat up!

    I also have Sioux. By an odd twist of fate here, I had ancestors on both sides of the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Go figure on that one.

    There’s also a healthy dose of Apache, and Navajo.

    Near as I can reckon, that conspires to put me square into one slot. William R. Ablan, a very unique creation by God. That means I can’t let last names, heritage or whatever dictate who and what I am, and can become. That’s left up to me to strive for.

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