Vanglorious!
This is protected…by the red, the black, and the green….with a blog, SISSSSIIIIIEEEESS!
Being black in the 90’s was dope. Not just because we could make up words like “vanglorious” and pass it off as a righteous exclamatory, but because it finally felt like we had established a more relaxed positive sense of community, and had really begun celebrating being black without fret of persecution. Well, maybe not for everybody. Im sure the views expressed by that last statement don’t necessarily represent those of Rodney King. That n*gga got his a** whooped for being coon-skinned (and speeding, while tipsy…but mostly cause the cooned skin thing). Anyway, n*ggas was happy to be n*ggas! And maybe it only seemed that way to me because thats when I grew up, and most of what I knew was shaped by music and pop culture…but, between HBCU shortsets, Shanice’s smile, and Calvin getting a job, being African American was like a never ending Electric Slide. Boogie woogie woogie.
At any rate, being black was dope. The only thing doper than being black was looking like you liked being black. Usually this meant wearing a lot of orange and purple (Kinte colors. Kunte Kinte colors). But, more than anything, it meant owning The Medallion. A medallion I once copped for $5, off the street, from an African traffickin’ mad goods….but recently, re-purchased for $50 from the innanets. Clearly, the value of being born with big lips skyrocketted.
However, despite my ethnic pride, and wearing a necklace that would suggest I’m either indigenous or putting together an outfit for Amistad Coffee’s Neo-soul Slam Poetry Awards…I am not from Africa. A fact pointed out by one of my fifth graders, after seeing me wear the necklace to work.
She was right. For as much as I love being black…I am not African, I’m not from Africa, and I don’t plan to ever go back to Africa (at least not for permanent stay). Here’s why…
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