My Answer: What’s the Hardest Part of Being a Black Person?

 This is one of those “How big is the universe” kinds of questions because the answer will be as different as all 328M people in the United States. However, as a 58-year-old Black American, I would say the hardest part was learning that I was far more than just the complex polymer: melanin in my skin. In fact, it's less than 3% of all the chemicals in my body. So why do people make such a big fuss over it? The short answer is, it wasn’t hard for me. I chose not to identify with my race as others did.

I learned to be excellent and that is what I wanted people to know me for. I learned early on that some people were systematically taught not to expect much from me based on my race and would almost always underestimate me. It started in grade school. Grade school is the critical formative years. If I had to pinpoint where that happened for me there were two incidents.

1) Fourth Grade – My teacher assigned us a project to write our own story. I was an avid reader and had a vast imagination. I wrote my story and turned it in. When they were graded, everyone received their stories except me. I asked my teacher about my grade and she dismissingly stated that she was still grading it. Days later, my teacher asked my mother if I had a certain book at home (most kids had a toy box. Mine was a book box). She had already rifled through the many books inside and did not find the named book. The teacher obviously assumed that I plagiarized a published book. I received my assignment without an apology, explanation, or commendation. Little did she know, she revealed the significance of my work regardless.

2) Sixth Grade – My sixth-grade class was selected to perform a song for those who would be in attendance at our graduation ceremony. Our teacher loved 50s music and we were singing a 50's song. On the day of our last rehearsal, the accompanying pianist could not attend. I told my teacher that I could play it. I was 11 years old. He excitedly replied, “Show me!”I showed him by playing the piece in front of the whole class and we finished the rehearsal. 

My teacher was amazed. Little did he know, I was already playing full church services in my father’s church since I was eight. He wanted me to play it for the assembly. Suddenly there was a big flap about me playing instead of the school pianist. It was overridden and I played the program. On the day of, all the teachers and parents were amazed. Most had no idea that I could play the piano at all, at least that well.

I realized that I had two skills that exceeded their existing education system. One teacher didn’t acknowledge me for my writing talent and did not endorse my talent or me. My musical skill was recognized by a very savvy teacher thus, I was recognized and celebrated.

In both instances, the color of my skin had nothing to do with either. I learned that if I can be exceptional, and with a little faith, I will succeed in life.

Today I am a college-educated, Persian Gulf War Veteran, a 28-year Aviation Maintenance Expert, an Ordained Minister, a published author of 14 books, a screenplay writer, a holder of a U.S. Patent. I am also a BMI writer, and I have several pieces of music that is currently played on TV and radio. I am not done. I am working toward making my Sci-Fi novel into a single-feature, motion picture and I have many other projects in the queue. In short, I now know that I am made into the image of Almighty God and that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I never view my race as an issue to overcome and simply proceed like it’s so.

-John

Photo by ZU photography on Unsplash