Oreo – An Autobiographical
As the daughter of a white man and a black woman, I’ve been called an Oreo. Black on the outside, white on the inside.
Caitlin Munson
I’ve gotten this name because one, I have black features – big curly hair, brown skin and thick thighs. And two, my mannerisms are labeled as “white”. Articulate, literate, and proper. I’ve had many nicknames growing up but I’ve wondered time and time again: is “Oreo” a compliment or an insult?
When I was five years old, I remember comparing skin tones with my mother and always asking why I was lighter. She explained to me that I was a combination of both her and my father – with both complexions and personalities. I adapted my mother’s love to read and inherited my father’s athleticism. My whole life I have identified myself as biracial but I’m constantly asked which race I consider myself more of, as if being more than one is a crime.
In addition to my racial background, my speech is questioned. I’ve been told I speak “white” for a black girl, on numerous occasions. Last time I checked white wasn’t a language. I read English, I write English, I speak English and I understand English. Yet some people seem to find my pronunciation astounding when a conversation is held. Oddly enough rather than upset, I feel conflicted.
I question if I should censor myself around certain people. If it’s ok to speak on the issues of Black Lives Matter without being the token angry black girl. Whether speaking up when a discriminating comment is made makes me sensitive or not. It’s ludicrous to think this way when other people express their freedom of speech every day.
What people don’t realize is that their words can hurt, sting, and leave marks. Their commentary can be borderline discrimination but they don’t realize that. I don’t speak white to my white peers nor do I speak black to my black peers. I speak the same language to everyone I associate myself with, regardless of race. Is it the worst thing that someone of a darker complexion has an intellectual tongue? I don’t see why not. It’s okay to be black and educated. It has been much before 1954 (ref. Brown vs. the Board of Education).
To be honest I fear some people see my skin color and expect something unscrupulous to come out of my mouth. I fear that my fellow black peers don’t see me as black enough and that my white peers see me as too black. I fear that I’ll always be stuck in the middle. Although I have fears, I don’t live in fear.
Every day I wake up and take on a city filled with racism, colorism, and discrimination; knowing very well I can encounter it at any point in time. To be cream or to be cookie? That is the question an Oreo must face.
Caitlin Munson
Cait Munson. A Brooklyn girl with a big heart, big dreams and even bigger hair. An optimist, a chocoholic, a journalism major, a bookworm and mother of a Shih Tzu.
