Young Black Woman, Small country Town

First off let me explain, I’m not one of those black Women with long pretty curly hair and light skin. All my life I wished I looked as beautiful as that type of black woman. You know the ones that are easy on the eyes, and make white pepper want mixed kids? Instead, I am the other type, the kind you rarely take a second look at, the black girl with nappy hair. The type of nappy hair that you’re surprised it’s so long. I am the black Woman that is Considered loud, and aggressive instead of passionate, I am still a beautiful black Woman. I am many things, I wear many crowns. I am a mother before I am woman. And I say that because I too often put my womanly needs away, to take care of my children’s needs. Do you know how many opportunities I’ve missed to shave my legs? Or get my hair done, or just sip wine without my name being called for something minuscule? I am also a wife, (to an Nigerian which will matter later as the story progresses) I am a daughter, who still to this day craves her mother’s approval. Lastly but not least. Somewhere in there is a woman. A young 24 year old which is more of a reminder for myself then to inform you.

I grew up in a town where you loved the Cowboys and the Eagles, which was our school mascot. If you were lucky enough to be born with a last name that came from old money, then you had to do little to nothing to be respected. Unfortunately none of those people were black. Though there was a way for a black person to be respected and not looked upon with pity, which was to play sports and be good! Unfortunately I was not the athletic type. School was a very difficult place for most, where I come from. Instead of it being a place where you “find yourself” you just end up “finding” a bunch of insecurities. Sadly you won’t realize how deeply rooted your high school scars are until you’re 24 still living in the same town with little too no growth.

How we met.

I was determined to become something. I was not going to be another college drop out with just an apartment filled with hand-me-down furniture, working at Walmart fresh out of high school. Part of me really just didn’t want that for myself, and the other half of me was determined because of my pride. I mean one day I was in the dollar tree and I ran into one of my former teachers. He didn’t even get me just “schools in session and you’re here, are you doing it online or going local?” I mean when you’re a fresh college drop out the very last thing you want to do is explain that you’re an complete failure with no future plans at the moment. So I did what any respectable person would do, I lied. “Oh yes sir, I’m just in town because I had to get my oil changed.” Normally I’m a much better liar , but for some reason, Shame was clouding my brain. Like I half heartedly wanted to explain Joe hard life was, but the sense of his disappointment in his voice made me feel like that wasn’t an option. He just looked at me. Which felt like for forever without blinking, he finally spoke. “Please do something with your life, you were one of the good ones.” Just like that he walked away, with just those words left hanging in the air for me to hold on to, like that was going to help me figure out my life. What does he mean ‘one of the good ones?’ What’s that a general statement? Or was that a racial statement? This was the day that I decided that a change need to be made. I didn’t ever want to experience something like that again. I know what failure feels like, because I’ve never been a winner, but this was much worse. I didn’t understand how I’ve let myself get so comfortable in the role doing nothing. So I went home to my tiny one bedroom cheap apartment, and applied to the prison! I took the test no problem, got my start date before I left the interview room, which was rare. That to set me up for failure, because of that man I felt like I had good interviewing skills, instead I just had a good interview, which is completely different. Nevertheless I was super proud to have started a new journey, being on the road to become something other than “one of the good ones.”

There he was, he was the first thing I saw when I walked into class, I can not even tell you what he was wearing because I don’t remember. What I can tell you is god eyes didn’t leave me. I walked straight toward him and I asked “is this seat taken?” Of code he said no, and as soon as he I introduced myself a lady walked right up to me and said “Sorry but you’re sitting in my seat.”