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52 Weeks: A Little Story About Racism, Park Grass And That Word That My Grandparents Were Probably Called Everyday...... | by sera_leaving
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52 Weeks: A Little Story About Racism, Park Grass And That Word That My Grandparents Were Probably Called Everyday......

52 Weeks: Week 28: Let this story teach you a little something........

 

Ive been called a nigger 3 times in my life.

 

Please don't be surprised, I live in the south and know plenty of individuals who have been berated with this word on and off for their whole existence. I bring this up because the 3rd time happened just this past week and the result of that has finally resonated in the body of my photostream ( as bad expereinces often do)

Let me please explain that if you are offended by the N word I am not including it here to shock or offend I am writing the word because it is VERY real to me and by saying "The N Word" instead of nigger, well you wont get quite the same impact of being called this word. 3 times is way to much for one lifetime.

 

So I would love of course to say that every single time I have been called this word I have kept my head up, rolled my eyes and moved on knowing perfectly well that I am glorious in my own right. Well that would be a big lie. The first time it happened I was 8 and was called this by a coach at a softball game that me and my brother watched on the grass of a public park. I knew what the word meant and I cried about it because I let the coach's hate for the color of my skin seep into my mind to rapidly remind me "there is something wrong with you" The ugliness of that incident is still with me because no one could really explain to me then why that coach hated me so....

 

The second time I was called that name was in college at a frat party. That incident went a little bit differently than the first resulting in me and my girlfriend cussing out 3 drunk frat pricks in the middle of their front yard.... But see even in all my grown up valor, I was still affected by the word being used to describe me, but instead of tears I used four letter words to express that same feeling that I had when I was 8 sitting on that grass with my big brother....

 

Last Sunday I was called nigger while driving on Capital boulevard. I was sitting at a light with my window down agonizing at being late to a friends house when I look to my left at a man staring at me in the eye from his car, dead center, he stared at me, through me almost. He looks at me and whispers that word, motioning it with his lips to emphasize the fact that he hated me because I sat beside him on that busy street in my Camry and my skin being these dark shades of ebony..

 

I am older now of course, I am a mother and can recognize pure ignorance where present... I moved ahead when the light turned green and kept on. I have thought of this incident many times since only to realize the strong person that I have become. I am proud of who I am and refuse to shudder under the heavy weight of that word or any other word.

 

On this 28th Week, I do a simple head shot because I keep my head up steadily. I am proud of the texture of my hair, the fullness of my lips and the extraordinary dark shades of my luminous skin..... Love me or hate me, I am me and that is something to be damn proud of.................

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Taken on July 14, 2009