Quit putting brothers down in these white spaces. Now.

Quit putting brothers down in these white spaces. Now.

 
 

So, last night, this black man—hanging with a group of white dudes—yelled, "Come on wig!" as I walked by—in a definitively condescending and self-hating tone. He was bald and older…

Like his time had came and went. Like he's always enjoyed putting brothers down to comfort his obsession with whiteness. Like if Becky (You KNOW she loves her extensions!) had strolled by he wouldn't have said the same. Like he found a black dude (me) who embraced his unique and natural self—and then he decided he'd make an example of that. Like he had conformed his whole gay life to what he thought was right, and now regrets trying so hard to be Caucasian. Like he yearned for his youth. Like he yearned for blackness. Like he wanted a second chance. Like if we were in private, he would complement my style. Like he really wanted to say, "Can I take you out to dinner?" Like he never had someone who could throw down in the kitchen. Like he was tired of eating casseroles. Like he needed a hug he could really feel. Like he needed a reminder:

Quit putting brothers down in these white spaces. Now.

Today my family celebrates my great-great grandmother's liberation from slavery in Texas.

Today my family celebrates my great-great grandmother's liberation from slavery in Texas.

Vemno

Vemno