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I Didn’t Know I Was Black For 35 Years
Both of My Parents are White, But I’m Black
“All my life, I was told that I looked Puerto Rican, Egyptian, or mixed. So I took a 23 and me, and it turns out I’m Nigerian and Irish, but both of my parents are White, or so I thought.”
This story isn’t about me, Quson; no, this story is about Janet, the 39-year-old I met at a bar with my best friend Alejandro. It happened two days before Christmas in Raleigh, North Carolina. It was oddly warm but still cool enough to wear a long-sleeve tee with a jacket and jeans. It was a great day. I hadn’t seen my friend in months since I moved, and to say that I missed him would be an understatement. But this story isn’t about us, it’s about Janet, and, I’m paraphrasing here, her “whore of a mother”
Saturday is the perfect time to go to the bars, maybe not at 1 pm, but that’s what Alejandro and I did. The mimosas were worth witnessing a black man get kicked out of the bar. “Why does he have to be black?” you might ask, to which I’d respond with, “It’s the American Way!”. That man was calling his sister a BI**H and WAY too close to the female patrons at the bar we were attending. I’m quite glad he was escorted out, but let’s focus our attention back on Janet.
Janet is a beautiful woman, her eyes soft like a field of bearded Iris, and her hair. Her hair was coiled as…
