a little bit of my history

We reason from what we know. Here’s what I know. I’m black. My mother is black.  My father’s black, but was a drug addict, and wasn’t there most of the time. In fact I haven’t spoken to him in a while, bc he’s shut off himself off from the world and refuses to keep a phone on. At my age (my 30s) it’s now a lost cause. I believe in black business, but in practice, I see black entrepreneurs running piss-poor operations. In fact, most recently,  someone close to me was swindled by a black architrct/contractor who was even an assistant pastor at their very church. In my early childhood I lived in the suburbs and was a misfit. Heh, it happens. We moved to a black neighborhood where I went from simply being a misfit, to getting my ass kicked every day for being a misfit. It’s painted my perception of black people almost irreparably. I even attended a magnet school in part to escape the social abuse. The school was mostly black, and I was still a misfit. I went away to college and my first university was a majority  Hispanic one. I was still something of a misfit, but the mutual novelty I felt from the locals smoothed a lot of the social awkwardness. I sought out the black students at my school, and got along somewhat, but still found myself in more conflict than I would’ve liked. I flunked out there during year 4. Excuse the trailing-off nature of my writing, but that was a bit of soul bearing. I still believe in blackness. I still have a heart and hope for the best for my people, but when I’m looking at cases such as Trayvon Martin, and Mike Brown, I’m not seeing what other blacks are seeing: an unarmed,  innocent black teen killed unjustly. I’m seeing the black boys who kicked my ass, and threw my books.

As for black women, I’m dating one, and I do love and care for her. I believe the feeling is mutual, but I have enough cumulative hurt from black women to have gaps in my ability to fully trust her. Much of it’s my fault, as I’ve often chased the wrong thing, but the end result is still a diminished capacity to trust and empathize with women – especially black women. I’ve come to a PUA – like conclusion that in relationships a person is as noble and loyal as their options force them to be.

So, am I a coon, a sellout,  an Uncle Tom? I don’t think I am. I think I’m just hurt. Thank God for WordPress.

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