America. In Black.
America. In Black.
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Black in Boston
Iâm from Boston. Boston doles out its racist vitriol like paper-cuts. Itâs not Confederate flags on mud flaps and SS tattoos (unless you date white girls from New Hampshire), itâs smiling pastorsâ wives telling you how scary you look until you smile, days before your 14th birthday, when Rubikâs cubes make more sense than girls,…
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How Raising Multiethnic Kids Reshaped My Blackness
My wife is not black. Our daughters, by no choice of their own, are. Not when weâre at home or with friends and family or surrounded by people who know and love them. But when theyâre out in the world, with their bronze skin and curly afros, when theyâre seen from afar or described by…
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How I Got My Black Card
I stand before you today a black woman with a shocking secret: I wasnât born black. I know what youâre thinking (#NoDolezal). And I assure you that on a frigid winter day in the early Reagan era, my parents did indeed bring home a peanut butter-colored baby. But the Council of Negrotude (AKA my extended…
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I Tried to Land a Date From a Street Sign
We sit around the dining room table on the cusp of the itis. Somehow we gather enough energy to keep the party going into dessertâhomemade flan. I slide my spoon into the substance. Iâm a picky eater with immature taste buds. I already know the outcome. I do not repeat. âSo, yâall got any friends,…
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My Grandpa and the Land
âI shuddered to think that while we wanted that flag dragged into the mud and sullied beyond repair, we also wanted it pristine, its white stripes, summer cloud white. Watching it wave in the breeze of a distance made us nearly choke with emotion. It lifted us up with its promise and broke our hearts…
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Jersey Black
When I tell people Iâm from Jersey that usually garners one of three reactions: âOh yeah what part, Newark?â Translation: All Black people from Jersey live in Newark. âLike Jersey Shore?!â Translation: Thatâs the most memorable Jersey reference I have. Â âOooooh so youâre a Jersey Girl?!â Translation: I still donât know what this means…
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The Whole Black Church and Me
One of the first sermons I ever preached was titled âAdam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.â In it, a very young and naive preacher, emboldened by an atmosphere that allowed impenitent homophobia to go unchecked, uses the language of revulsion to articulate why he believed same-sex relationships were wrong and not in line with…
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All the Ways I Did Not Die
When sitting in the passenger seat of a car with a known drug-dealer during a high-speed chase, one should always wear a seat belt. Always. Thankfully, I came to the realization of this maxim seconds before the tire burst as I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car with a known drug dealer…
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A History of Heroes
I became black at age 7. I was in second grade, missing two front teeth, and talking a mile a minute to my mom while she stood at the stove, telling her about my newest school project. Iâd been instructed that day by my teacher, Ms. Jefferson, to go into our extensive elementary library and…
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To be a Black American Muslim Woman Is to be Both an Insider and an OutsiderÂ
If I had to describe my relationship with Islam in one word, it would be nuanced. Two words? Profoundly nuanced. Iâm not a hijabi Muslimah, and because I donât wear hijab, I blend. I blend in with other black Americans who like other people, donât recognize that my entire name is Arabic, which could be…