I am just me and I don’t know how to be anyone else…

Today I was sitting on the patio of my favorite coffee shop as I poured over my endless stack of journal articles. It was a wonderful sunny day, the like of which are fewer and fewer as fall comes in. The smell of a breeze coming off of the lake was a welcome addition to my cup of espresso that I sipped behind my shades; smiling as I thought of God’s goodness and the magnificence of this day. As I sat there, I was approached by a nicely-dressed gentleman that I barely noticed out of the corner of my eye (people come and go). He asked me if I had a moment to chat and I obliged since my afternoon meeting had been cancelled.

“What are you?”, he asked me. I am biracial/bi-cultural (Great Britain and Jamaican) and get that question from time to time. I explained that I was a first-generation American born of parents from Jamaica and the United Kingdom of Great Britain. He asked me what I “considered myself” which was an interesting question. I repeated that I was a first-generation American born of parents who immigrated to this country. He then proceed to explain to me that I consider myself so much better than African Americans in this country because I had light skin.

At this point, no good can come from these types of discussions but I said that I consider myself a human being and not much more than that. I wished him a “Good Day” and implored that he leave me to my journals. He then pressed me further on the issue and I stood up (I am tall), thanked him for his concerns, gathered my papers and headed inside. He didn’t follow me which was OK. The point is, I am just me; always me and while I might steal your soul, I have to keep up with my journals these days.

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