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Gifted Black Girl’s Road Less Traveled

Giji Mischel Dennard,
Burtonsville, MD

While my cross-culture world view likely has been shaped by my early exposure to people with ethnicities different from my own, I can’t help but believe that by divine design I was wired for this often “road less traveled” life journey. As far back as 3rd grade, other Black kids called me names like “Black cracker,” due to my speech pattern…primarily the result of growing up in a family of educators. It didn’t help that from 3rd through 5th grades, I was the only Black child in the gifted program. Many of my other friends in this group were first-generation Americans, whose parents were from Cuba, Syria, Sicily, Lebanon and Canada. Until tenth grade or so–separated by relocation–my best friend was Jewish and hers was the only house of non-family members where I could spend the night. I was surrounded by affluence, but lived on the other side of the track. In 9th grade, I attended a prep school where I was the only Black kid in the entire school. But I was raised in Florida and experienced some violent racist encounters between 7th grade and my senior year in high school. I’ve dated guys from Lebanon, Haiti, Palestine, the Ivory Coast, Tonga, the Bahamas and a few African-Americans in-between. When I went to grad school at Stanford Law School, I often was asked how I was “adjusting” having gone to Howard University undergrad. The truth was Stanford was what I knew and Howard was quite a culture shock. Not many of my undergraduate peers had studied, Latin and classical Greek and I was the only one who went all the way through 3rd-year Russian. All these years later, I still often find myself a minority within a minority. I’m a conservative African-American with strong messianic Jewish leanings. I often find I am drawn to and most embraced by others, like me, who lead cross-cultural lives. While my race is a core part of my identity, it has much less influence on what defines me.

You’re cute for a black girl

Leah Thomas
Florissant, MO

I grew up in Saint Louis, MO and I moved to a mainly white private school in the 5th grade. I was a “gifted student” according to my public school district and my parents struggled to give me a better education. As I got older, of dating age, I started to get more attention from boys. That attention shaped my life in ways I never could have imagined.

I remember the first guy who liked me in 5th or 6th grade. He was black and we carpulled to school together. One day he told his white friend that he liked me when I was maybe five feet away. His friend then looked me up and down and said “man you can do better than that”. My eyes shot down at my feet and I walked away quicker than I knew I could. When boys liked me it seemed like it was always supposed to be a big secret. They would ask me to see a movie outside of school, but just give me a simple wave throughout the hallways.

It seemed like they were taught that black women were not supposed to be attractive. I was some unusual exception because I didn’t roll my neck and snap my fingers–like that was all black women were supposed to do. I wanted to cry and run away each time I heard those six words. It hurt me even more when it came from the black private school boys. They got sucked into the thought process that black women were beneath them and not meant to be attractive. How could they say those words against their own race?

They came from a black mother, have black cousins, and maybe have a black sister.
I felt like I had nowhere to turn and nowhere to run to. I was always the “first-black-girlfriend”. Just some educational experience for someone who originally never intended on dating a black woman.
I want to be beautiful for a woman. I am beautiful for a woman. Not beautiful for a black girl like I am so far beneath the expectations for beauty. I am beautiful because I am me and I am a person.

To be young, gifted, and black.

Photo-on-24-10-14-at-09.34Maynard Hearns,
Santa Cruz, CA.

The black story in america is very simple: we were slaves, and then we weren’t. We were never given freedom, or equality. When we begged for it, we were lied to. When we Marched on Washington and pleaded our case, we were shot in the back of the head. When we sang for it, we were passed over it for those who could sing it whiter. When we wrote about it, we were left out of the american canon. When we exhibited moral character and “married up” we were called rapists. When we created shows that displayed to our intelligence without compromising our reality, we were sneered out in editorials.
When we cultivate our own beauty, we are ignored, or worse: “exoticized.”

When we dare to like ourselves and not be subservient out of reflex, we are shot in the walmarts, in the streets, and our killers are rewarded with a paid vacation.

Success for blacks in america comes with punishment. Nothing is more dangerous than to be unapologetically self-loving, yet able to go toe-to-toe with your white peers. They have magazines telling them they’re beautiful, stories saying they’re courageous, and smart, and funny, and thoughtful. They have a culture that tells them that they are, in a word, perfectible. To be black in america is to be faced with the notion that you are naturally imperfect.
And to succeed while black in america is to succeed in spite of your society, in spite of your nation–not because of it.

Academically smart, Athletically ungifted

IMG_0540Ed Wang,
West Lafayette, IN.

As an Asian living in the U.S., I have been underestimated my whole life and probably will for the rest of my life. I am allowed to be smart and get good grades but I am seen as physically inferior, void of any athletic abilities. People don’t believe that I am better than them at sports until they see it with their own eyes.

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