*shrugs* ...but she meant well

So, the other night my friend and I were minding our own black business on the streets of San Francisco. My friend was smoking a cigarette and I was arguing with my sinuses because the wind was confused about which direction it wanted to blow, and well, claritin only does so much when you stand downhill of said smoke. In essence, we were having the time of our lives post-birthday (not mine yet)-bottomless drinks-celebration.

Of all the weirdos that accosted us that evening, a well meaning white woman who obviously uses Pert Plus or V05 hair products says, OMG, you’re soooo cute! *pinches my cheeks in her mind* in my black direction. I look to my friend who confirms with the furrowing of her brow that I was in fact a whole grown ass taxpaying human being who was just called cute by a strange white woman on the streets of San Francisco.

While I resisted every urge to thrash her with the rage of every ancestor in my lineage, my dear friend decided to have an intervention with this individual. On the streets of San Francisco. There was a time when this would have been received and filed under “I JUST FCKN CAN’T EVEN” and went on with life. But that file has long since filled. It’s overflowing, so my thoughts were written all over my face  – I didn’t have to a word, yall #AintNoSmileBih.

So, let’s take a listen in on that there intervention:

1. The white person whitesplains that they didn’t mean to offend by whitesplaining that the "compliment" was somehow connected to their inadequacy. OMG I mean your hair is so cute. I could never get my hair to do that. It’s so dry and drab.

2. The white person describes the ways in which they aren’t racist and totally understand what they just did wrong, even though they just did it strongly and wrongly with authority. I know, I know…when will I get this through my thin unconditioned hair?! I’m totes the worst, right? 

3. The white person mentions the very white neighborhood they grew up in and the black friend that they had to inform you that a black person has signed off on them – so they’re cool. OMG Janessa spent the night at my house all the time. We’re BFFS! She’d kill me if she knew what I just did. I should call her. 

4. The white person changes the subject to talk about something else because they can’t handle your articulate articulation of their heinous offense. Right? Like who elected this president anyway? He’s totes the worst. (and here, we find my friend, irony)

5. The white person finally resumes their white business, which typically involves getting into some other color’s business. It’s sooo cold, right? OMG I should go! It’s so late!

photo: Wikimedia Commons

I have never been referred to as “cute” but another black person, or person of color after assuming my adult form. I’ve been told my shoes are cute, or that my outfit is hella cute – but never referred to as “cute” like you would a purse poodle. But white folks?? She totes purse poodle’d me. Like I was five years old and dressed myself for school in my Halloween costume cute. She wanted to pat the top of my head. I know she did.

I don’t get it. You’re white. I’m awesome. And you just HAVE to tell me about it. I did an amazing and extraordinary thing – combed my hair -_- … – and you are dumfounded that people actually do this because, well, we see what you don’t do with yours. In the spirit of my trying to get to heaven, here are some ways you can help me not want to curse you:

1. Say: Your hair looks great!

2. Say: I love your hair style!

3. *think about saying something to me, then smile and leave me to mind my black business on the streets of San Francisco in the wee hours of the morning while my friend smokes a cigarette and my sinus cavity fails me*

Look, I’m not telling you to not speak to me (I definitely advised you to not speak to me…It’s not you, it’s me). Many of the issues in the world today are a direct result of different people not speaking to each other (and listening actively, and understanding empathetically). I am definitely telling you to “don’t be stupid”. Let her be the example of being stupid and don’t do that.

As life would have things, there were homeless/transient people also outside on the streets of San Francisco. As they would walk by my friend and I would nod, or say hello, while we were being whitesplained. You know, the part where she is a genuine, caring soul, and just aches to heal the world and help others. We gave the dollar we had in each of our purses, so when there was a next ask for money, we’d respond that we didn’t have anything, and wish them a good night. Not once did she stop her whitesplaining to acknowledge in any way, any of these people, these humans, these individuals, these life forms breathing the smoggy air with her.

Maro Being Messy #polo

So, I’m on new technology again. Ugh. I got bullied by a #YAMP into joining Marco Polo. Then, I bullied some other people into joining it because why should I be the only one to suffer? I was okay with that being the extent of my polo’ing. But, because technology is far more advanced than me, er’body and they mama’nem on Marco Polo got a notification that my petty ass was “finally” on. It’s a celebration, bishes – I guess. *shrugs*

...and no, i don't have an iPhone #DriodNation

Anyway, I get polo’s and whatnot. And summa’yall get replies that look kinda like Tami Roman’s bonnet chronicles because before I realize I’m on camera (by my own doing) I have already assumed my natural form. My bad, yall #WhoRaisedMe?.

Well, my running-mate-middle-name sake sent me a polo. Scratch that mate part; she’s running #inspiration #goals, and also my middle-name sake. She sent me a polo (am i using that right? is it called a polo?), and we gotta work through this one together. Here is an excerpt:

“I love this. I love being able to like talk to you and stuff. I’m so glad we, you know, made this connection, years ago – and you know sometimes, it takes a while for things to come full circle or whatever, but you know, I’ve always felt like, you know, you had this thing about you, this positivity, and this, um, this really, this confidence and this “can do”, and that-that’s something that, I really – really like and I’m attracted to in people and so, you know, high five… *high five in the camera*”

She gave me a high five yall *insert thug tear here* She said I had a thing, yall #MamaIMadeIt ...and then she continued on with the other parts of her life that included the humans she deducts on her taxes, with the human she married, and their dinner plans. Because, I think she subconsciously knew that me listening to words like that might make a player like me feel emotional and whatnot. Which ain’t the best look, because we don’t do feelings with recorded proof.

I have all the questions now, for which I have to write an answer because that’s also my thing.

Do you know how people experience you? Like for real. The people you know, interact with, meet, etc – can you say, that you know for certain how they experience you? And, if you do happen to have that information (like I just got from her), do you experience yourself the same way? Are you the same way you are to people as you are to yourself? If not, are you better? Worse? And why? How do you feel about that? Are you even able to answer that honestly?

I think I know how people experience me, but not in a way that I hold in my conscious mind. Does that make sense? I get feedback from people who are in my life, which is typically like a B/B- or something. I get a passing grade, but I don’t feel like I’m on the Dean’s List or anything. Remember, the world could come undone and this could be our last minute on Earth and I would still never share my sweet potato cookies, so like, I’m not exactly the A student I think I am.  I own this about myself. I accept me, flaws and all. #ImmaTrainWreck

I absolutely do not experience me in the way my running-inspiration-middle-name sake experiences me. Positivity? Can-do? Confidence? Girl, bye. Something so attractive that I seek myself out? C'mon, sis... I’m not nearly as good to myself as I am to her and that makes me sad. She and I made a connection almost a decade ago, and well, I made the connection to me long before that. Look how I treat myself. I have to force mental and verbal affirmations of goodness, and positivity, and love to myself! I feel like I’m lying to me when I do it.

My first thought was to not believe her. Isn’t that crazy? Who just sends people messages packed with words they really don't believe (well, yeah some people do, but that’s another post…also #WhoRaisedThem?)? Sure she got Marco’s messy ass notification that I was on Polo like er’body and they mama’nem, but she definitely didn’t have to do a polo on me (i think i did that wrong). She’s a full-time woman, mother, wife, working professional, and running badass – who has the time when you have little humans to oversee and early morning runs/workouts to beast?

I feel so much gratitude for her though, and her words. For her being, for her life, and for the way she made a little room for me in it on her commute home. Maybe this was just a really long thank you to her, and to that #YAMP who made me get on the app. And that petty ass friend who sent me a polo reminding me about how I lament joining new technologies - because yall, I really don’t wanna get lost in the Matrix, have we learned nothing from Neo??? – but I always come around and I love them.

Maybe this was just a really long thank you.

…and homework.

If you are anything like me, then you’ve probably got some work to do because God ain’t through with you yet, on today (because i love you, Bethany). Find someone in your life who does that thing I apparently do for my running-inspiration-middle-name sake. Call them, send a polo, type a ridiculously long text (and pray they don’t respond back “k”), or do something archaic like tell them in a face to face encounter. Reveal to them the way you experience them, and how it makes you feel.

I promise what happens next is nothing short of magic. It’s better than Disney. Trust me. I did the research. Waiting on my grade to post.