Likely every Black person has experienced some type of racism. I have actually experienced more racism than I could possibly list here. There are the daily slights like being followed around whatever store I happen to be shopping in, or being completely ignored when I need some assistance, oh say at a Mercedes dealership (in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey – yes, I did write a detailed letter to the general manager and got no response – goodbye sale). It doesn’t matter if you live in the “right” neighborhood or have all of the trappings of a decent life (that likely took twice as much work to attain) … you can never hide your Blackness, and some people are intent on never letting you forget that (and not in a good way). I want everyone to read this post but I really hope my white friends read this and take this in with an open mind. I say that because I once told some of my good friends that people in our town (Hoboken – which is literally across the Hudson River from NYC) stare at me. My friends dismissed my concerns and said that people were likely staring at me because they think I am beautiful. But see, I know the difference between someone thinking I am beautiful and someone feeling like I don’t belong. Do not dismiss my concerns – if you are my friend. This is a part of my story and my American experience:  

• Some of my friends don’t know this but when I was about eight years old, my family and I lived in a suburb of Houston, Texas, called Pasadena. At the time, we were the only Black family that lived on on our street … in our neighborhood actually.  I remember our house was a really nice five bedroom two-story brick home. My older brother Russ and I would ride our bikes all over the neighborhood – as most kids do. Our parents had friends on our street whose homes we would visit for dinner or parties. The one sore spot (that I was aware of) was that our neighbors on the left side refused to speak to or acknowledge us at all (let that sink in). Meanwhile, the neighbors on the right side were grandparents who welcomed us into their home often. After living there for about a year, one night, one summer, someone burned a cross on our lawn. Yes – a monster(s) burned a massive cross on our large. Sit with that for a minute because it is as unbelievable, hurtful and disturbing and disgusting as it sounds. Cross burnings have traditionally been symbols of hate, bullying, oppression, aggression, cowardice, disgust and despair – towards Black Americans. Even though my parents tried to keep me from seeing it, I remember poking my head around the curtains in my bedroom on the front of the house and seeing the glow from the cross and the fire flickering against the night sky. I would learn the next day that the cross was placed directly behind our family car, close enough to possibly ignite the gas tank and cause a deadly explosion. For good measure, the monsters also burnt a cross in the yard of the Vietnamese family that lived on the next street over. That was the first time that I realized that someone could hate me just by looking at me.  

And why do people think that racism only exists in the South (insert laughter here)? That is a myth. In my experience, racism is not isolated to a region or area code. Looking at you Northeast.

• When I first moved to the tri-state area (NY, NJ, CT) in 2012, one of my first orders of business was finding a caregiver who would bring my son home after school and get him started on his homework.  I often say the hardest part of parenthood is finding good caregivers and the best school for your child.  Nobody tells you these things.  Anyway, I digress. I noticed quickly when I arrived in the area that every kid seemed to have a West Indian caregiver.  It was odd to me and it felt like a throwback to another era to see all of these white children being taken care of by Black women.  Of course, I understand that being a nanny is a great job for many so please don’t misconstrue this post. As I went about looking for a caregiver (I don’t say nanny because IMO, nannies are with an infant all day and I only need an afterschool caregiver … different cost bracket altogether thank you very much), I decided to post a listing on Hoboken Moms.com as well as the Care website.  I listed my preferences and set the hourly rate and soon the applicants started to reach out.  I sifted through the applicants and had several conversations with prospective caregivers.  The first applicant met Carson and I at the playground. She was a West African woman who seemed nice enough but she never once took her sunglasses off. Aren’t eyes the windows to the soul? Anyway, I asked Carson how he would feel if this woman was his caregiver. He looked at me and said, “Scared.”  Next up was a lady that was very pleasant over the phone. We set up our meeting at a Starbucks nearby. When we walked in and approached her, I could tell immediately that she didn’t realize that we were Black. Why? Because she couldn’t hide the shock on her face. You see, this woman was something other than Black (to be fair, I’m not quite sure of her ethnicity but her skin was very fair and her hair was very straight and her features were very keen). I could tell that she barely listened to anything I said. Her face said, “I can’t possibly walk around town with this Black child.” After our meeting, I contacted her a couple of times and she ghosted me completely. So I sent her a nice nasty note about how it would be a cold day in hell before I let my amazing, beautiful, BLACK child spend one minute in her presence. Not too long after that, Carson’s teacher told me about Francine who worked with the afterschool team at Carson’s charter school and might be open to some extra work. It worked out perfectly. Carson loved Francine and she loved him. She became a vital part of our family for three years. Thank you Francine, Diane, Brenda and Cheryl (who all pitched in when we needed backup) – you saved us.
• My boss in 2020 (yes, in 2020 jokingly called herself a “Karen” when she was retelling a story about how the people at the BMW dealership were slow to respond to her request to turn in her husband’s BMW at the end of his lease … during the height of the pandemic … when all of the dealerships were closed. This person also made jokes about NWA (you know, Niggas With Attitude) during a Zoom meeting with myself and three other colleagues – me being the only Black person on the call. I was also told by a colleague that I “better be careful” wearing my “nice” jewelry to work because the white women in leadership would not like me having nicer jewelry than theirs. I’m serious. This happened. In 2020.
• It’s the friend that was on a Zoom meeting and a white man asked her if “her executive” was joining the call. She said that she was “the executive.” It’s the friend who was approached at work by an irate partner at the accounting firm where he worked asking him to hurry up and unlock his office because he thought my friend was a part of the security team. My friend was an executive. Unfortunately, I could go on and on.

I have so many more examples but this post can only be so long. These incidents are traumatizing. They stay with us. They hurt us. They anger us. Unfortunately, they shape us and maybe that is the intent. 

As a Black person, I could never hide my Blackness. It’s something I have to think about every time I apply for a job, every interview I go on, every time I speak in a meeting, when people gasp when they meet me after speaking with me on the phone and assuming I’m not Black. It’s striking the balance of being good enough but stopping at being great (read any Pet the Threat articles) so that I don’t intimidate anyone or spark any insecurity. It’s always about making someone else comfortable with my Blackness. God – it is exhausting.

To “make it” in America, and the world for that matter, as a Black person is an extraordinary feat. And for the closed minded people that say things like, “If you don’t like it here, go back to your own country!” This is our country.  I will be a Black American no matter where I go, and racism is rampant, globally. Anyone who says something like that has lived a life where they have likely never had to experience discrimination  – and if they have, never to this degree. You have no idea.