Token Black Friend

This is a topic I could literally talk about for days on end. That is not an exaggeration, I really mean days on end. Through no true fault of my own, I have been set up in life to be the token Black friend. My parents sent me to private all girls' school at the tender age of six, so you can guess the skin tone of most of the people there. My first day of school I was simply shocked. I had never seen that many White people gathered in one place (in real life) before. For some reason my parents didn't tell me that I would be one of the 5 Black people in my grade out of 45 students. That's about 11%. When you fast forward to Hopkins having 6% Black students, I guess that 11 doesn't sound so bad.

That initial shock didn't take too much of a toll on me. My teachers and classmates were very welcoming. I'm not stating that to imply that my 6 year old self expected White people to mean and terrible, I'm just painting a picture. My school, Bryn Mawr - go Mawrtians - had a very friendly and comfortable environment, especially in lower school. Yes we called it lower school and not elementary school. Sometimes we were a little, uh... pretentious? I'm not sure if that's the word I want to use there, but I think you get my drift. I also used that word in my last post, for all of you who wait for my posts with bated breath, I'm really, really, really sorry. Anyway, I was also very tall in my younger years, which is hard to imagine now since I'm a whopping 5 feet and 3 inches. Just know that I have been this teetering height from the age of 10 in 5th grade. But yes, I was super tall in 1st grade and I was not skinny. Don't get me wrong I wasn't battling childhood obesity, but those other girls... I'm sorry it just looked like they just did not eat food.

My 1st grade friendships were all over the place. In the beginning it seemed like I was just bouncing around from friend group to friend group (some people had already formed relationships because they started going to Bryn Mawr in pre-school, or kindergarten, or even day care.. as in they started going to Bryn Mawr as an infant). Initially I hung out with the only other Black girl in my homeroom, because she was the only other Black girl in my homeroom. But she was pretty mean and I didn't really like her, sadly at that point she was my only option. At some point or another I was accepted into the fold and I was no longer forced to hang out with the bully. 

By 2nd grade I was in my stride. I had my first play date at what was probably one of the biggest houses I had ever seen at that time. People always wanted to be my partner in gym class, people always wanted to sit next me at lunch, I got people in trouble all the time for talking because I was super chatty (I also find it funny that I'm listing that as a positive thing... I don't know, feel free to analyze me), and the teachers seemed to really enjoy me. Side note: I think this is the point in life where I started to think I was really cool. So young right? Most people talk about how they hated middle school because they were so weird and dorky and developing mentally, physically. Or they hated high school because people were so bitchy and crazy, but not me. I loved it all because for some reason I thought I was really cool at all stages of life. This is not true, obviously, but apparently my perceptions of myself seemed to be crafted out of grandiose delusions. This is a topic I'd actually like to really delve into at some point, so we'll save this for later. 

As each grade passed, I had a different best friend. Sometimes it would last for a week or two, sometimes a month, some of those girls are still some of my best friends today. But since I shook off my Black bully friend in first grade, I never really felt compelled to be someone's friend because we were both Black nor have I ever felt like I was in a friend group simply to fill the diversity quota. Now that being said, I guess it's time we break down what the term "token Black friend" means.

Have I ever felt isolated being the only Black person in the room when I'm among a group of my friends? The answer is yes. I can't count the amount of times a joke has been made that seems like it "slipped out" and probably wouldn't have been said in my presence if the person had been paying attention. The most recent time I can recall was someone making a joke about saying the word "knickers" because it sounded close to another word. Apparently the joke was funny. People laughed lightly. I remember wanting the moment to be over so badly. I remember being angry and not knowing if I had the right to be angry. In that moment I couldn't understand why someone would make a joke about the word "nigger" in my presence. Not only in my presence but in an environment and conversation in which I was a full participant. Not only that, it wasn't just someone saying it,  it was my friend. Should I have said something? Should I have voiced my offense right then and there? Was I a coward for not doing so? I always pride myself on being a bold and sassy young lady who isn't one for taking crap from people. But in situations like that I freeze. Anyone who is close friends with me will tell you I'm not one for emotions, so maybe that's what stops me. Maybe the sadness and betrayal I feel when one my best friends can look me in the eye and say the word "nigger" or excuse me "nigga" because she's singing it in a rap song so that makes it okay, maybe that's just too much for me to handle. 

So in those situations, I have experienced the downside of being the token black friend. Throughout middle school and high school I was asked a series of dumb questions including, "is it fun being Black?" And, "will you talk in Ebonics to me?" That last question is interesting because a lot of people in my family  (mostly cousins who think they're funny) have accused me of "talking white" meaning I use correct grammar. The thing is, I have a switch. When I'm not in a professional setting, or around my school friends, I can easily conjugate a verb incorrectly if I see fit. I also think it's sad to associate something as basic as correct grammar with being White...grammar is not a racial barrier.

I don't think the whole any certain way of talking makes you any less Black or less White or whatever, but maybe that's because of the situation I find myself in. I always feel like I'm an authority on White culture because most of my friends are White or some variation of ethnic that is considered White, etcetera, etcetera. I think some of my friends think they know about Black people because they are friends with me, which I find pretty comical and intriguing. Sometimes, I feel like the ambassador of the Black people for my friends. I think it's a good thing, somebody's gotta teach them something. If I have to explain why you don't throw water on a Black girl, especially when she just got her hair done, then I will. I might have saved that person's future life. At the same time, I can't be fully responsible for making sure that a handful of non Black folks can begin to understand a group of people that are so diverse. Even me, growing up with one Nigerian parent, and one Black American, my perception of Black American culture is different from another person with two Jamaican parents or two Black American. 

Not too many of my friends have explicitly asked me about what it's like being the token Black friend. Not many have asked me my stance on the n-word, even the ones who have said it in front of me shamelessly, perhaps I should say especially the ones who have said it in front of me shamelessly. Maybe it's something that only I as the token can bring up without it becoming uncomfortable. I'm not really sure. One friend did ask recently how I felt during my time at Bryn Mawr being part of the small Black minority and we talked about some of the things I wrote in this post. But really what I took away was the fact that she even asked. It showed compassion and a desire to learn something very important about one of her best friends. But this girl, she has a big heart and always goes above and beyond for everyone she loves, so I expect nothing less from her.

Anyway, that's my quick take on my token Black status. Not sure I like that term, I'll work on coming up with something a little less demeaning and a little more accurate. Bye for now.

23 = 1 Year Out

It's been over a month since I've written a post! I keep coming up with ideas for things to write about but I keep getting distracted by fun and responsibility - maybe that's a good thing. I celebrated my 23rd birthday last week and still have 8 days left of this glorious month of May, aka Birthday Month. 23 is an odd age, and people don't usually see it as important or exciting. I'm not sure if it's my infatuation with my birthday that allows me to see a significance in this age, regardless I think it's an interesting point in a young adult's life.

Yesterday I attended the Johns Hopkins University undergraduate commencement ceremony. That sentence seems slightly pretentious, but I think I'm just gonna leave it. Some of my best friends from college are in the JHU class of 2014 and I felt like such a proud mama seeing them walk across that stage just as I did this time last year. Though yesterday was clearly about them and their success, I couldn't help but to reflect on myself 1 year out of college, 1 year with my Bachelor's degree. I thought about my dazed sense of glory on that hot morning last year, smiling for an endless array of pictures with my cap barely clinging to my 'fro. As people shook hands with President Daniels, I recalled with pride the way I casually grabbed his elbow in such a familiar sense, as if he were in fact, my homeboy. Let's be real, he wasn't, but I wanted a good photo opp and I am proud to say, I set that up quite nicely.

Three graduates in the middle of this loving line-up. My first class of babies to graduate - such a proud moment!

A whole year later there I was, at an event I had originally planned to miss. Since I signed up to be in AmeriCorps through the first week of June, I had braced myself to miss Homecoming, Spring Fair, graduations of all sorts, proms, birthdays, and general spring delights and outings. But luckily since I escaped my Iowan hell-hole, I was able to go to all of those events this spring, and the ones still to come. Tonight I even get to see my baby cousin go to her senior prom. I call her my baby because she's the first baby I really remember holding and loving. I remember being in the hospital the day she was born when I was 5, hence she's my baby.

But aside from the niceties of it all, graduation season has made me reflect on myself and what progress I have or have not made since 2013. You see, the majority of people who graduate from college are 23, just like me, when they reach this point of reflection, and that's why I think 23 is relevant. I am a planner, especially for long term goals. My day to day doesn't have to go exactly one way, but there are certain markers that I have set for my future and I plan on reaching them. In order to achieve that, there are certain plans that I have developed. One of those plans was AmeriCorps. I had never intended on entering the entry level job force after graduation. I knew that I wanted to complete an entire year or two of uninterrupted community service and go straight into law school. I had been thinking about resigning from AmeriCorps in October and started looking for jobs so that I could have something lined up when I got home. A call with my parents telling me I wasn't a quitter, quelled my job search at that point. When I officially decided to quit in December it was more of an abrupt I've-reached-my-breaking-point-I-can't-stay-here-another-second decision as opposed to a more calculated and thought out decision which is my typical mode of operation.

That being said, when I came back home, my system was in shock. I definitely had some sort of PTSD and needed to recover from the craziness that endured, so the first month that I was home was spent hugging my bed, hugging my refrigerator, hugging my parents, hugging my friends, and hugging freedom. That last part seems dramatic but I really mean that.

I'm still applying to jobs, trying to break into the legal field. My biggest problem is that I didn't decide on this life path until near the end of my senior year of college. I got an internship with a medical legal partnership right after graduation but it only lasted for a summer because I left for AmeriCorps. I don't necessarily have an adequate amount of experience to work at some of the bigger, well known firms in Baltimore. And there lies the Catch 22, how do I land the experience if I don't get a job to give me said experience.

So at this point my concern becomes money and eliminating gaps on my resume. I'm now working with a temp agency in Baltimore! There is a also a legal branch within this company, so fingers crossed that a temp-to-hire position becomes available for me in the near future. I'm happy to be working with this temp agency but when people ask me what I'm doing with my life, I still wish I could tell them I have a job with a salary and am truly putting my JHU Bachelor's to good use. I'm officially taking the LSAT in September and applying to law school this fall, so I know that I have that to look forward to, but I don't want to come off as any kind of disappointment or failure. I know, I know, it doesn't matter what other people think. But I have to be honest with myself, and I do care, even though I wish I didn't. I know that I am doing my best and working hard to get a job I can be proud of, but I'm not going to say that to every person who asks me what I'm up to these days. I just tell them I'm working with a temp agency and studying for the LSAT and hope to not stir up any judgment.

I know that "judgment" isn't something that I should be worried about, and honestly I think most of any disapproval that I sense probably comes from me. I have always had very high expectations of myself. Those expectations faltered a little in college when I realized the pre-med was not the right path for me and they faltered again when I quit AmeriCorps and attempted to forge my way into the working world. I need to work on my resiliency when it comes to big picture plans, but that's not a feat I can achieve over night. I'm sure I'm not alone in this struggle, although it's going to be a hard one.

On the bright side though, 23 has brought me many o' good times. My friends have been my rock through this tricky transition process of living back at home with my parents and being broke as a joke. I cherish my friends and am so lucky to have them. Being an only child, I really do view my close friends as my sisters - they will be the closest I ever get to having any. Just knowing that my friends are always happy to have me around, happy to be my refuge when I need to escape my parents house, willing to let me vent about rejected applications, is such a blessing and I have no idea how I would survive without them. A year out of college I've learned that my college friends were not my friends out of convenience (as we all lived within a 5 block radius of one another) but they were people that were truly close to my heart. At 23 I've learned that friendships that started when I was 6 years old are still thriving and loving, and that's a beautiful thing.

This time next year (according to my extended life plan) I'll know what law school I'll be attending. That's my expected trajectory for 24, but hey if 23 has taught me anything, I have to accept that that may change. And I guess that's okay.

I've got a lot of things I want to write about soon, because I've been witnessing and experiencing some questionable and eye-opening things. So I can't wait to write it all down. Stay tuned. <--- I said that as if a lot of people are reading this, because maybe if I pretend like a lot of people are reading this then they will? Haha, it doesn't even matter, I'm thankful if even one person decides to read any of my posts. So thank you for the person (or people) that made it this far down the page!