Mother's Day today. Due to the constant pestering of my mother, I remembered to call her today. It was mercifully short. For the sake of avoiding confusion, I'll cut to the point of this entry.

I was slightly given focus today when I realized the exact role of a parent. Parents never got good marks in my book. This is largely because past experiences which overwhelmingly surprise me. While my own parents give me the feeling of wanting to throw up, it does still surprise me that so many others I knew had parents of similar, pitiful fashions. I mean, that so many line up similarly makes me want to be baffled. For the sake of avoiding names, I won't delve into further examples of people I will harm if I ever meet them again.What has also surprised me is how much these sons and daughters still cling to these parents, but I've always been a straightforward person - wrong is wrong. Granted, I've always been quick to forgive, and the only reason my parents are a decent exception is because they've pushed the limit until it's bloodily ruptured. I forget that not everyone feels their parents have done the same (thus, the rule of forgiveness isn't eradicated for them).

Parents are...I dunno, just "things". They are there, and, thus, we react to them. They may be the antagonists but that they hold any more significance is lost on me. Of course, that doesn't mean I haven't felt some sort of emotional response to them (other than disdain). I chide myself for it because that they don't deserve the sentimentalities is just scratching the surface. But sure - not a feeling I voice often (more so because it's just not one felt often) yet I've certainly mentioned once on here wanting some form of connection with them. There's plenty I admire of them or think good qualities. And then...there's the other side.

So, for the majority of things, I sit pretty much apathetic to the entire thing. I don't understand deep connections with them. I don't get what it's like to have someone to look up to, a role model, or someone constantly there to comfort you (at least in the role of a parent. My cousins and siblings are fine substitutes (in my opinion), and my extended family (friends) are wonderful as well). Not to say I'm better off without, of course. In fact, it's an experience I'd wish to no one. There's much to gain from it, but it's like saying, "Thank God for war," just so we know what peace is. It's neither necessary nor more beneficial.


(to think pictures were impossible back when I had dial-up)

I don't get those. And that's not an exaggeration (though I admit it's comical in how much it seems so even to me). Particularly that first one. I don't know what's so abstract of having so close a relationship with someone in that role, but the idea baffles me. Almost like it's against the way things naturally work. I love you? It's a phrase said just to keep her happy, so the peace is maintained and she doesn't guilt herself to death knowing otherwise (she thinks my refusal to want to talk to her often or utter the words are just me being my normal aloof and distant self). Raised me? I had to raise myself. I'd be a racist and animal abuser if you raised me. I'd be a bigot, a hypocrite, a liar (and so in denial I'd justify it every turn), and beyond selfish. Car rides were a struggle to stay as enveloped in my own head and distant from my dad as possible as he just never understood or got it. I guess that really is it - they were events, things to react to - not relationships or connections.

So Happy Mothers Day? It's a made up holiday for me. I don't get it. Literally, I have no feelings towards it. Normally, I wouldn't've even written this entry for it. But thoughts ought to be transcribed. So, if you have a parent and you cherish, love, and appreciate them - let them know. I don't know what that's like - but you do.

 

**That was far more revealing an entry than I had anticipated. I hadn't meant for that. If anything, I just wanted to transcribe the idea than say anything emotionally disturbing. So, I'm very sorry about that. 'Twas unintended.

      Another thing that used to rile me but which I afterwards enjoyed was his complete indifference and, almost, disdain for my appearance. Never, either by word or look, was there a hint that he thought me pretty: on the contrary, he would make a wry face and laugh when people complimented me on my looks in front of him. He took a positive pleasure in picking out my defects and teasing me about them. The fashionable clothes in which Katya liked to dress me up and the way she did my hair for festive occasions only provoked his mockery, mortifying the kind-hearted Katya and at first disconcerting me. Katya, having made up her mind that he admired me, was quite unable to understand his not liking to see the woman he admired shown off to the best advantage. But I quickly came to see what was behind it. He wanted to be sure that I was devoid of vanity.[...]My hair, my hands, my face, my ways - whether good or bad, it seemed to me he had appraised them all at a glance and knew them so well that I could add nothing to them[...]. I felt that from whatever angle he saw me, whether sitting or standing, with my hair up or down, all of me was known to him and, I fancied, satisfied him. If, contrary to his practice, he had suddenly told me, as other people did, that I was beautiful, I believe I should have been anything but pleased. But, on the other hand, how happy and light-hearted I would feel when, after something I had said, he would gaze at me intently and say in a voice charged with emotion which he would try to hide with a humorous note:
      "Yes, oh yes, there is something about you. You're a fine girl, that I must admit."
-Happy Ever After, Leo Tolstoy, pages 25-26

I'll readily admit, for those that know me, opening as I just have is no surprise. I ought to probably note that there's more going on in that passage and I took what I needed and liked from it (though that often does happen when you take but a piece from a larger work). It's a disheartening piece, for they go from a practically idyllic love to something I would regard as settling; yet I know what Tolstoy meant to say with it. In any case, I suppose I ought to get to the point of this entry sometime soon...

We (myself, siblings, and mother) were sitting in the car before a doctor's appointment and the conversation came about to when my parents first dated. I believed this happened because it was prefaced by me and my brother noting she wasn't a virgin her wedding night (partly to point at the hypocrisy of her abstinence only stance - though, as most know, I'm very pro-abstinence while my brother is on the fence since last I talked to him - and also to bother her since we have no issue of talking about sex while, for her, it depends on her mood and situation; more than often, it's amusing uncomfortability). So, she notes that the first time she met my dad was at Market Fax (crudely referred to as Market Fags due to the amount of Queer people that often worked there); she, of course, doesn't bother to mention the FTM transsexual who happen to set them up together (honestly, for a straight couple, my parents had the gayest adolescence when they dated; I should have a post dedicated to when they went out sometime).

We ventured into what is essentially the same stories we've heard a million times before, though I enjoyed hearing them anyway. Stuff like the first time my dad tried to pick my mom up for a date and how she thought he had a cute butt when they worked at Market Fax. Of course, I can't help but note that the cute butt line comes at the expense of her now current (continual) detractions of his appearance now (as if he could magically hold back the pressings of time all on his own) or the detractions she levies towards my siblings and myself. However, I enjoy these stories because they give some color or background to these people who I've had to basically sever as well as I can from my life. Talking the past (i.e. before I was born) was always something rarely done so that I don't know much of my ancestors or my parents' life before hand. And, for someone who obsesses about the past and loves history as much as myself, this is a travesty. More so, though, I think I like to think there was a time when they were in love.

Of course, that sentence implies they aren't in love now. Which I think could be accurate enough of a statement. Or at least not a healthy love. Their communication is terrible. They constantly insult each other (and then wonder why the other ones gets pissed off). They're fantastically selfish (which is an obvious no-no in a relationship). And they aren't there for each other anymore. I mean, of course, I'm talking from an outside view; and while they've told me their own woes about the other from their very own mouths (and I stumbled across a few journal writings of my dad's on accident one time), for the most part I am speaking from an outside view. I readily admit this. Yet they don't even seem interested in each other. Being young and hopeful and, possibly, naïve, I have very idylic perfect ideas of love. Given that, I'm will to argue (from my very unexperienced viewpoint) that there is merit to them and no reason to believe they can't exist or happen. So I lament dearly at the fact my parents never seem to really talk beyond the day to day stuff. They own interactions are built on the jobs they have to do for the day. I rarely see them (even when they're unaware I'm viewing them) interact in a way outside of what chore needs to be done. Even their kiss when they see each other is done as if it's another thing in the schedule. And their laments never end....

And so I'm reminded of Junior year. I believe we were talking about the relationship I had at the time and we happen to come to trust. I'll admit, rather assuredly, I said that I'd trust Victoria (Mendez) with my life, to which my mother objects with the style of one sympathetically correcting one she knows to be inexperienced (I've said this story before, if it's sounding familiar). She then proceeds to tell me that she rarely trusts anyone. She specifically says she doesn't trust my sister to sleep over my uncle's house for fear he may touch her (out of the ordinary, that is to say). She even (I almost want to say boasts) didn't trust my father for the first few years after they were married (and she wonders why I object to dating a total of 2 years (or less) only before marrying). Now, I understand worrying about making poor choices on the behalf of others for fear of failing them. How do you possibly look at yourself again after essentially sending your daughter to rape (though I can't imagine distrusting my brother that badly; might say something about her childhood and their relationship)? 

But for myself? I've suffered too much to put myself through more. Yes, you might hurt yourself - you can hurt yourself in many ways. But to live a life of isolation such as hers? You never hurt but you can see what the results are - a marriage which is empty and soulless. I've only loved once but (all relationships included) I could tell you exactly what caught my eye about the girls worth remembering. And I'll admit, while not every person I've dated was exactly "utterly rapturing and fascinating" (or exactly worth remembering...), those of real worth not only are remembered but make a "physical" mark in my own development. As I've said somewhere on here before, a relationship should ideally (particularly if it doesn't succeed) create a far more strong bond between the two people and a deeper appreciation for each other (which I'm not properly describing right now, nor seem to be able to). And, no, that's not love. If my actual assumptions of love are correct, they're a shadow of what it is. But it is and should be related to it. You don't get even the slivers of love if you don't open yourself to it. And, yes, that means many possibilities of things which you probably don't want. But that's life. To be honest, I think there's only two people in this world I trust wholly and fully without a doubt (at this point in my life). But to shut the door with a, "Well, that's all that's probably possible in this lifetime," may be one of the biggest mistakes I could make.

Ay, what point was I making.... I guess I was just waxing over the idea of Love in general (though particularly in relation to my parents). Thinking about it now, there's probably too much (or a good deal I've said before) which I wouldn't even know how to get into from this frame point. Yeah, I think I've said my thoughts on love before rather well in the past, right?

It was a good day, up to the end where all visible lines smeared. "Why can't life be easy?" Free will and luck. Yet even I could say that's a pretty crap-ass answer. There is an afterlife, there is an afterlife, there is an afterlife.... (that's my brand of humor, btw)

I had a ton I wanted to say in this entry and now I can't think of anything. Oh well.

You know, I honestly think Tommy is very smart and incredibly insightful. But he makes so many rash and not smart decisions way too often. Gotta love the kid anyway, though.

I was talking to this pretty cool today when I went to see my friend. We were discussing parenting (which was actually intensely amusing) and she mentioned that she wouldn't be ready because it means living for someone else and not just yourself, something she was not at all ready for yet. And I responded, "Well, yes, but aren't you already living for others?" And I already knew the distinction before saying it, though. It's your viewpoint on life - are you thinking about how you ought to be justly treated or are you thinking how you should justly act towards each person? I wouldn't be ready for a kid at this point - it's physically impossible to keep after the child when I'm struggling to take after myself at the moment.

I attended Mass today because Father Caster will be gone tomorrow. And the times for St. Patrick's are far too early for me to even hope to wake up on time Sunday. It was really nice. I was watching the alter servers, because (having done it for God knows how many years and having had to often be the one to instruct the younger kids on how to do it (more than often my brother and sister)) I like to see how they do, whether they seem to be enjoying the job. It's honestly one of the only things I can really say my mother did right, making me join alter serving. I love it. It has something to do with the Catholic church as well but when you're walking down that aisle it just becomes you're in control. One of those few places where, yeah, there're probably a ton of eyes on me and yet I'm in my own place, just feeling in myself, "I'm home."

You're lucky, Tommy. You know what you want, clearly - even know how to go about it, relatively.

Dark weekends in the sun
     out on Chelsea rode
Descending the stairs
     Ah, Frankie, my world
Check your makeup in the mirror
     C'mon, babe, let's go
We'll dance 'round this dirty town
     'til the night is all done

Let all the finer things sleep alone tonight
Let all the minor kings lose their thrones tonight
Don't worry 'bout us baby,
     we'll be alright...
-Bruce Springsteen

I'll have to show you Gurnee sometimes. Gages Lake, the Woodland schools, Grays Lake - Hell, even Warren Township. Oh, and library. Geez, that library could be a bibliophile's dream (alright, maybe it's just satisfactory, but I'm nostalgic at the moment...).

I don't exactly know why but it was always like even the most frequented of places had so much nature maintained. There're just fields next to that library. And the park, next to the youth center, was always fun to just bike ride out to. There's trails and trails of confusing and unknown neighborhoods to ride through. Occasionally you'd get to just a pile of dirt to ride all over from some construction. Or you'd just get to a nature preserve, tranquil and quiet. And the Gurnee mall, of course. Not nearly as utterly satisfying to trail around all day with a friend in as the mall in Evanston (I've gotta take you there someday as well. Northwestern, the park, just the neighborhoods...).

I dunno. There was something about Gurnee that was just capturing. A peace that only nature could give you yet is unending in its empty parking lots and empty buildings. Just gotta see it.

Laziness would probably be a good reason half the stuff I want to say on here never get here. What was it I was going to post? Oh, yes, Broomball, being out of shape, and poor hand-eye coordination are not a good mix. I didn't think I was that out of shape still. Sad thing I've probably been the most physically active in my life my first semester this year. Heh, I better get to bed tonight, I'm so sore...I'll worry about the pulled muscles later....

The thing I thought of literally two minutes ago...ahh, yes. I was going over the aspect of intelligence. Another opinion formed as a bastard of my mother's influence. She would always harp on the aspect of good grades and how to pay attention in class, etc., while anyone who knows me could attest, the last thing I've ever considered important about a person was their performance in class.

However, contrasting that, I have always harped upon the idea of intelligence. I expect to deal with intelligent people. Okay, that's not entirely true. I know plenty of people who aren't the smartest that I love dearly; it's when they start to voice opinions (which will be poor, given their own shortsight) and thus infringe upon others freedom and pursuit of happiness that I get irritated. My, that sounds really awful, but one of the few times I'll argue it's true, nonetheless.

And, I cannot deny that the intelligence of someone weighs a heavier and heavier influence in how I view them. I respect the intelligent - I think we all ought to.

What, then, dictates intelligence? It's not what you learn in school, for the most part. That'll make you knowledgeable, but you can still be the biggest dumbass ever and be on Honor Roll. We all know those individuals. No, you won't impress me by your GPA.

However, to side put that argument, don't we increase our intelligence by what we learn in class, simply by virtue of differing opinions and new ways of thinking? True.... I probably was more life-altered by my government and World Masterpieces (take that class, damn it, if you get the chance!) classes than by many other things - though, I'll admit, it was as important a part by the teacher as it was by the material taught. By the way, on that note, if anyone is taking Economics this year and happens to see Mad Dog, tell him hi for me. And get me his opinion on who he wanted to win the election. No one's economic opinion do I trust more.

Anyway, back on topic. Do I still have your attention? Despite the point of this whole entry, I can imagine it must be boring as fuck to read.

So, I attended this Peer Health meeting today, which I had no clue what the meeting was, I'll admit. Our Queer Life Coordinator (I hate that title, principally because the word queer is in it - ever call me a queer and I will punch you; no joke), Justin, was leading the lesson. So I was expecting to see 1 or two people, at most. I walk into a fairly full room with Sex, Gender, and Sexual Orientation written on the board along with Transsexual, Gay, Bi, Pomo, Pan, Transgendered, etc. etc. written as sub-subjects underneath the big three categories.

I swear I thought I had died and went to heaven (yes, they will be giving lessons on sexuality and gender expression in Heaven, to incredibly large crowds).

In any case, I found the lesson interesting, though I knew, to a relative extent, most of what was talked about. I found it funny that I probably knew more about the Trans topics than I did about those Bi related (specifically the terms Omnisexual and Pomosexual, though (if you ask me) I think you're pushing it by going past Pan...but a topic for another day).

So, why this random diversion? No, it's not simply because I found a random unrelated reason to talk about sexuality (or because it's even related to sexuality); it just happened that this was one of the events that lead to the over-arching premise of this post.

I found the information for the meeting interesting, of course. But largely for the same reason that I enthusiastically scoured the internet when first learning about anything gay related - my own ignorance.

And some of the stuff talked about were theory, things I had picked up in my theatre class first semester. And, being a class, and being theory, it wasn't the most interesting.

And that's the principle difference between the ignorant and the intelligent (though there is one last component to intelligence I'll cover right after) - the intelligent are willing to learn. I don't give a crap if it's a struggle to learn or if you don't get it immediately. If you're willing to bother to try to understand and commit to memory the stuff you're going over, that makes you better than a Hell of a lot of other people.

What I used to boil intelligence down to was your reasoning ability. Were you able to, simply, reason and use logic. After all, back then (and still greatly now), my biggest concern was figuring out stuff and right and wrong (yes, you guessed it, largely due to my mother and the faulty advice she's tried to give me over the years). But the fact I forgot to acknowledge was that to continue progressing and learning more, we do have to learn different aspects of life. So, how willing or eager are you to do so? Or, simply, how willing because you know its use?

In the end, it still boils down to your ability to reason and use logic. I am of the firm belief that, armed with those two, you can do near to anything.

And I've seen in plenty of people those aspects. Maybe that's the central reason I point out and notice the potential of people.

In the end, it's all up to how much you want to put into it and how much you're willing to use those skills given to you - and applying the things you learn and using them as points of your reason in life. Really,  reason and logic aren't that difficult; in fact, we're pretty much born with it, as humans, and they strengthened the more we use them.

But you've got to be willing to use them.

The tacked on song is simply because I haven't been able to stop playing this, lately. It's an amazing song.

We all bear the scars...
Yes, we all feign a laugh
We all sigh in the dark
Get cut off before we start

And as the first act begins...
You realize, they're all waiting...
For a flaw...for a flaw...
For the end...

There's a path stained with tears
Could you talk to quiet my fears?
Could you pull me aside?
Just to acknowledge that I tried

And as your last breath begins
Contently take it in
'Cause we all...get it in...the end

[string solo]

And as your last breath begins
You find your demon's your best friend
And we all...get it in...the end

[marching band starts]

And as your last breath begins
You find your demon's your best friend
And we all...get it in...the end!

Everybody!

[repeat]
-Scott Matthew

Honestly, my mother's selfishness never ceases to amaze me. Word of advice - don't be the same way.

The bugs are back. This feeling is amazing in how unsettling it is. And how worse it could be. I don't know what I want anymore.

Don't worry. It's not so unsettling this time. Its presence doesn't surprise me anymore.

Someone on here (no one anyone else knows) remarked how so many other Xangans say how original and unique and different they are. She then remarked that not everyone could be different and special. The notion was rediculous.

However, I'd have to disagree. Granted, on the surface, we all appear the same. But you dig far enough, we're all utterly different.

I'm going to keep an eye on her; she has potential (yes, I know, I say this about many people. It's true, though). Maybe she'll be more.

I just saw "How to Combat Spiritual Dryness" on Revelife and immediately took it as a sexual innuendo. Wow. I thank God people actually know me well, because there'd be the worse opinions of me otherwise.

Well, let's see. Hw to do. No surprise there. Good break. Saw family, good friends, and got a haircut (despite the extended family and father's protests).

Ever had someone you respect totally lose that respect in your eyes? And I don't mean, they were just your better-than-average-people person. I mean, this is someone who literally affected who you've become, someone you were incredibly close to. Okay, so maybe not all respect. But it's like you suddenly look at them and don't even know who they are anymore. They seem far less intelligent than they were and all those qualities gone. Ay.

Well, plenty on the plate of course. Worrying about the pregnancy included. Seems I will have to consult the mother on that one. Knowing her, she'll think I'm interested in medicine again and become estatic. Never.

Because it's a hamster and I'm rodent obsessed: watch it - it's cute. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRzTfgds0UI&eurl=http://www.xanga.com/ChrisRusso/683718262/the-evolution-of-the-vampire.html?ref=FPP

I keep receiving spam from a sender named Jenn titled, "WANNA SEE MY PICS?" I have a cousin named Jenn. It's really starting to freak me out.

'Cause Manda tagged me: All you need to do is create a post with 10 random facts about yourself; simple as that.

1. I didn't know I have actually been outside of the U. S. until earlier this year. Apparently my parents brought me to Canada when I was younger - and I never realized it.

2. My cousins, myself, and my siblings used to be really close, in that we used to see each other all the time and spend time together. We weren't always nice to each other. My oldest cousin (Jenn) used to be a bit of a bully and would harass my brother. Probably partially out of peer pressure, partially because at the time I saw nothing wrong with it, I'd often be the equal participator. My other cousin (Dominique, who I call Dod (pronounced Dode) or Dods, derrived from her family nickname Dodi) was able to spend less time with us and she always was the weakest. Therefore, when she was around, abuse was shifted somewhat to her (oddly enough, me and her are the closest of friends now; I rarely think of it, but she's the closest to me of the few that are). As my sister and other cousin (Francesca) were born, the took the role of littlest and were excluded from most stuff. It kind of became the Big Kids and the Little Kids idea. That's how the adults used to put it, anyway. It lead to the family famous example of the Little Kids having to go to bed and Francesca exclaiming (as my brother was walking away), "Nathan! You're not a big kid!" (my brother is shorter for his age). In any case, as our parents moved farther apart and we spent less time together, these get togethers were broken up. We've become closer (maturity does all kinds of wonder to a person) and it's a shame we never did spend the same amount of time together consistantly. I think we'd have kept going a lot of the hobbies we did together, some of us would be different for the better, and we just would have been even closer. But alas - I'll hold. I could go on forever about. It was a fascinating social dynamic (if, of course, you're weird like me and enjoy studying how things work, like social interractions and social standing in a group).

3. When I was rather young, I used to want to be an architect and I'd watch this show about it. I don't, for the life of me, know why. I've never shown the slightest interest since then and never rethought about going into it.

4. I was the most straight-lace of kids, before 6th grade. And I wasn't that impressive in Middle School, either. Meaning, I wouldn't have been able to make heads-or-tails of a sex joke, and I don't think I even knew curse words. I remember saying something about someone playing with themselves in 5th grade, which I was just reciting from what sounded like it made relative sense. The situation didn't even make sense that I used it in, everyone else was just surprised it came from me. Which, of course, is funny if you contrast it to me now. There's little I don't know (heh, and I certainly don't shy away). Ever wonder what people who knew you 8 years ago would think of you now?

5. My humor is rather all over the place. I can love slapstick (so long as done well). Plus I love sexual humor, generally when done intelligently or it can be base as well (laughing with Rachel over descriptions on how to perform oral sex in the Kama Sutra book for a full five minutes comes to mind). Actually, just about any crude humor does well with me.

Contrasting this, my humor can be pretty dry, as well. I'm reminded of the time I'm sleeping in the car and my mom wakes me and tells me we're looking for Liberty Restaurant. I pause for a moment, then ask, "Is it in Boston?" Bad, I know, I know.

Plus I tend to really sarcastic. Caustically so. I'm even suprised when I look back at some of my stuff how biting my sarcasm was (heh, wow, that sounded a bit pretentious). Othertimes, my sarcasm is simply dry, in that it relies wholly on you knowing. For example, were we talking about eating flesh and someone asks is it good for you. My dry sarcasm would be responding back in a completely serious tone, like I mean it, "Yes. It's incredibly good for you." Which basically means you often have to know me to get when I'm being serious or not. My dad always gets irritated with this because I say something odd or weird, not meaning it, and he takes me seriously and gives me a weird look.

6. I used to draw a lot. Nothing award winning, but I used to. I could still make a comic, if I wanted to (I do, from time to time).

7. I love history, but I'm not sure why. I just love the subject, and any thing which impliments bringing back characters, events, etc. repeatedly. I suppose that's why I love the history of Germany and France starting from the founding of Germany to WWII (never told you this story? tsk, I don't know how not; absolute favorite).

8. Much to my parents distaste, I've purposely "dumbed down" anything immediately eye catching or alluring about me (in an example related to the rents, I never comb my hair; heh, mom hates that). I'm not very telling from the outside, and anything remotely interesting about me has to be learned from talking to me or getting to know me better. Hope that's clear enough.

9. I've always wanted a Pug. Pugs are my absolute favorite dog and I want one so bad. Dods has one, and I'm totally jealous. I also want a rodent farm someday. Heh, yes, the joys I will have...

10. I hate anything diet. It leaves the most disrupting after taste. Only if there's nothing else will I permit a can of the stuff. And generally I try to be really thirsty so as to not notice it when I take the first several sips.

 

I once stated on here that race relations in America were heading towards a train crash that most seemed to be conveniently oblivious to (with no further explanation of what I meant, of course). Well, maybe a train crash was a bit dramatic, but that they are confused and screwed up, I would certainly be willing to argue.

 

The first thought you would probably have is that I’m talking about racism (and, if that is the case – in our American minds, white on black racism). However, I am not. Where to start?

 

Simplistically, I am of darker skin. On a more complex level, I would be labeled half black and half white. Truly, I am multiracial. My mother was born and raised in Haiti. Her grandmother was from the lighter side of the country, her French heritage clear upon her. My grandfather was from the darker side, a mix of Haitian and Spaniard. My father is European, for the most part – his lines run from England to Poland to Scotland to Germany.

 

But if you were to talk to anyone, they would generally call me black. I am reminded of the time in elementary school that my mother made a fuss over what race the school marked me down as; the secretary wanted to simply check African-American and be done with it; my mother insisted that’s not what I was.

 

Yet in America, it doesn’t matter whether you’re really from Nigeria rather than born and bred here. No, it won’t always even matter if you happen to be Japanese instead. You’re not white – racism will follow you. In that sense, I am black. People will see me as that and I shall be treated accordingly. I have no qualms with this. I understand it and take it. My skin is dark.

 

Even still, I have never understood most demonstrations and protests in justification of being black. I have studied and followed the history in America, yes – I know well slavery, done projects on it; one of my favorite time periods is the black civil rights movement; one of my favorite speeches is I Have a Dream. I’ve been subject to racism (though I doubt no one hasn’t been or isn’t well aware of it). Even before I faced it, a favorite movie in my household is Roots. I knew of racism since I was born.

 

There was a problem, though. I’m middle class. The majority I’ve always known is white because that was what my classmates were for the most part. In fact, as I got older, the less racism I faced and the more my skin became an irrelevancy. I know better, so I’ve often wondered in awe how you could view someone who was different as the same as you so easily – my greatest acceptance (when it came to my skin) was from the majority. Other races for me were the many types of Asian. And while I have a deep love for rap, I’m a complete metal head, while my all time favorite artist happens to be Bruce Springsteen (taken from my dad, I admit). It was a white rapper who interested me in genre first, and Big Pun made me realize that my own windings among rhyme and alliteration were hardly anything in comparison. I consider myself a video game nerd. Some of my closest friends were the techies working backstage at the concerts (I have since become one since applying for a job in college, I am happy to report). My list of girlfriends has been Caucasian (if only for the reason I had little other choice, given my raising). And I have a fierce love for the gothic subculture; I remember listening to a spoken word poet listing the ways the majority stays complacent, shutting out the problems of the world; she lists the indignity of Columbine being placed on rap and video games; and then she cries, “Go back to your ‘goth’,” and I wanted to shout objection; did you forget they targeted us after Columbine just as much as the previous two?

 

So am I any less black? Will I be viewed and judged differently? In the days leading up to the primaries for the Democratic Party, some of the “black leaders” said that Obama didn’t share with other blacks in America that history of slavery and was, therefore, different from them.

 

One of my “brothers” happens to be a Jew. Of my “sisters”, one happens to be blue-eyed and the other a mixed Hispanic.

 

I don’t know (nor understand) a “black” culture. I don’t understand what the green, black, and red colors of an African continent does for an American like myself, nor would I suppose it make much sense, if I considered my own heritage.

 

So you’re probably thinking – are you criticizing black people? Is this some type of perverse racism and you feel the need to separate yourself from black people? Are you really this bored?

 

America is characterized as a people of no color. In my mind, that has always meant that we were a people despite our differences. As I viewed the statue of Thomas Jefferson in Washington, I stood in the shadow of a man who shaped our nation – of which I was just as much a part of. This man may have not been Haitian, but he was certainly me. With every word of the Declaration of Independence, he was crafting my beliefs and my future.

 

I may not have ancestors who suffered the pains of slavery in America, yet I view with pride the abolitionists who spoke out against it and the slaves who wove their own culture into the American fabric.

 

I am a child of Western thought. The Greeks laid out the idea of a free government and the Romans crafted a form of what would be our own, someday. To those minds I owe and I make no mistake of it.

 

I did not find alienation in the women’s civil rights movement and I use the words of Jane Addams and Sojourner Truth often enough.

 

I wasn’t hosed down during the 60s, but it is one of my favorite times to study. It was those people who paved the way to the acceptance I receive today. It was a moment when we said, “We might have inherited many problems, but at no point can we not overcome them.”

 

When I think of America, the words, “Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand/A mighty woman with a torch…/‘Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she/With silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor,/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,/The wretched refuse of your teeming shore./Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,/I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’” grace upon my lips, heaving with the spirit that must have infected the many who came to our land.

 

The Grapes of Wrath, for me, didn’t describe a strange people or a landscape I didn’t know. I read with dislike the internment of Americans with Japanese ancestry. I rejoiced at the discovery of Stonewall. I sat with solemn acknowledgement at what the two Marches on Washington (1963 and 1979) meant for us as a nation.

 

In short, every facet of American history defined me. We never got it right everytime – indeed, our grievances are many. But I take pride in what we have done. And I don’t understand why any person would isolate themselves to one position based on their heritage. Perhaps I’ve been too swayed by the words of King, but unification is the only route in my mind. I characterize myself as an American first and foremost.

 

There is no “black” culture but only what of our culture was taken from people of color. I will identify myself as a German (among other things), I eat everyday now with chopsticks (something I always wanted to do since a kid), and I proclaim loudly, “In the future days which we seek to make secure, we look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms. The first is freedom of speech and expression…. The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way…. The third is freedom from want…. The fourth is freedom from fear…”, “It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion…— and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth”, and “Yesterday the greatest question was decided which ever was debated in America; and a greater perhaps never was, nor will be, decided among men. A resolution was passed without one dissenting colony, ‘that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States.’”

 

And, perhaps, most importantly, I believe deeply in that Latin saying – e pluribus unum.

 

So what am I, America? Should I cling to an identity – whether that be black or Haitian or German or male – and define myself by it, letting no others share it?

 

What am I, America? Should I find connection in only those like myself? Should I see my history only from those eyes?

 

What am I, America?

 

I thought I was American.

I feel too wired right now to work and too many things going through my head to think straight.

Everyone just make me a promise - take care of those you care about and never leave them. Never do anything to make them think you feel any other way about them. And always remind them.

A memory: During Band Awards Night,

I was sitting next to Sam because him and Sarah had come back to visit us all and they had mentioned something about an award for all students who got straight As from Fresh. year to Soph. year. I had missed that by one grade because I didn’t turn in my practice chart. So I was kinda bummed about that. So Sam leans over and goes, “Don’t feel too bad. I got a D for band my Freshman year.” We both laugh and I ask, “How’d you do that?” He goes, “Exactly.”

I miss my mom; I miss my dad. I want parents I can trust.

I was talking to my mom and she asks how I'm doing in my classes. I naturally respond that I don't know. Who checks those kinds of things? The estimation of your final grade adds an excitement to the class that is sorely needed. So she says, "Well, you're the only one who can know if you're doing well in the class or not."

And I so wanted to respond, "I'm also the only one who can prevent forest fires but you don't see me doing that, now do you?"