One Drop by Yaba Blay

Author:Yaba Blay [Blay, Yaba]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beacon Press

DENISE BROWN

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“African American”

I come from light-skinned-race people, so there’s no lack of clarity anywhere in my family about identity. I’ve always been Black and proud, and there’s a way in which I inherited that and engaged around that. Within the context of my family, there’s every color, so it’s always surprising to me that people would think I was anything other than African American. Most Black people think we always know when other people are Black. I’m sure we don’t, but it’s like “race-dar” or something — like we know other Black people automatically. So to think I’m anything other than Black? Your race-dar must be off. But there have always been questions — “What are you?” and “Are both your parents Black?” or “Where are your people from?” I have had people ask me if I’m Mixed, but not necessarily in an “Is your mother White?” type of way.

Sometimes there’s as much “stuff” within the family as there is outside. My father’s second wife, my stepmother, who I’ve known all my life, is from New England. Her family is from Massachusetts and New Hampshire, and so they’re like these old African American Yankees. Trust me, you’ve never met anything quite like this in your life. My stepmother’s mother came from a large family, and so there are a lot of aunts and uncles. One in particular, Uncle Willie, lived in Europe post–World War II. He speaks fluent French and goes to the opera and that kind of thing. Most of my life I’ve worn my hair some form of natural because my mother didn’t believe in chemicals. It really wasn’t until I was in college that I ever had my hair straightened chemically. So I had my hair cut off and it was kind of spiky on the top and straight. I went to visit family in Massachusetts, and Uncle Willie happened to be there. So I was walking down the street and I got to the porch of the house, and Uncle Willie said to me, “Nisey darling, I thought you were a little White girl walking up the street. You look gorgeous!” Prior to that, anytime I was around Uncle Willie, he spent most of his time talking to me about how harsh my natural hair made me look. “You know, you are such a pretty girl. Why would you want to have all that nappy hair on your head?” So, sometimes it’s not just about the questions that other people have of you. Sometimes it’s about navigating family dynamics.

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