Brittney Brunson

Professor Sipin
English 211C
January 20, 2015

Trying to Identify

For years I felt as though I never truly fit with in the African American community since
my skin has always appeared to be too light, I was an outsider amongst the people I tried
related to. Since I no longer have my wise family patriarchs to guide me and inform me about
my culture. I feel I will never truly understand those parts of me. Today I still try to identify.
Who am I?
In the fourth grade I experienced verbal attacks and physical abuse towards the lightness
of my skin. I was the only light skinned one in my class, so I was different from the start.
Dressed in the same uniform but it wasnt hard to notice me. The for the fact I was in a private
school where the focus was Gods love and how to love each other the same but I felt more
crucified. I was exiled. I can remember it was a few weeks before black history month. Projects
were being assigned about our identity as African Americans. Since my class was filled with
little African American children. Projects and crafts were being made and the scent fresh office
supplies, used glue and powder scent air fresher lingers in the air of the little gray box shaped
classroom. My teacher arranged the desks to be close together for an unknown reason. By the
looks on the other students twisted faces they were not pleased. I was seated at my desk, right
next to my teachers wondering as I looked through a Civil Rights magazine my teacher placed on
my desk. The peace in the room breaks from the sound of her words You cant celebrate Black

history month because you are not black yelled a dark skinned girl. I didnt understand why she
felt the need to say that when she was on the other side of the room. The frustration in her voice
echoed in the room and in my mind off the walls. No one defended me, they just agreed through
head gestures as they crowed around her desk. The confusion and hurt from my peers of the
same race was unsettling. I wanted to punch her to show no sign of weakness but the rules of the
school No Fighting kept me from laying hands on her and her disciples. My only instinct was
to walk out of the classroom, find a corner and curl up to hide the tears. My teacher didnt do
anything. She believed they were harmless jokes non-threating to my self-worth. She was
wrong. I was the only light one in the class or some would say only white one in the class. I
couldnt understand their frustration towards me. I was just like them except lighter.
I would suffer Indian burns, punches and any other physical abuse for their amusement.
They hated me but loved to see me turn colors. I hid the bruises from my family I didnt want
them to worry or yell at me for being so soft. But my father could tell something was wrong. His
solution to most problems is to read. So he took me and my older brother, Ben, to the
neighborhood Barnes and Noble to get some books. My father wanted us to understand our
culture as African Americans so that was our assigned topic. He noticed how timid I was in
trying to buy a book about my race that I thought hated me. I watched and envied how my
fathers skin was a dark smooth brown like a chocolate bar and even my brothers reddish brown
skin like an Indian. I scanned the books on the enormously tall shelves only made me wonder
more. Why was I so light? My light skinned mother wasnt this light. I shaked my head. Finally I
came across a book that captured my interest, the book was about all the hardship African
Americans had to endure in America. I could relate even though the cover was full of people that
didnt look like me. My father noticed how interested I looked and brought the book for me.

With his fatherly intuition he gave me a tight hug and told me to read about my culture. Even
though he didnt say a lot after we left the store. It was exactly what I needed to hear.
It was Black History Month, project season. My time had finally came for me to present
my culture as it relates to black history month. I was standing in front of my enemies that day.
Timid, unfocused and frozen in front of the chalk board. I took a breath and began with I am not
black but I am African American.My skin was lighter than all in the class but my origins were
still from the same root. I was stating in my mind as I was presenting. Although I was tormented
by their lack of understanding. I finished my project and to my surprise I heard applause as I
rushed to my seat. Apologies came months later but I still received them. They learned that even
light didnt mean white. From that day on they respected me secretly since I knew more about
my culture as a light skinned African American then they did being brown and dark-skinned
African Americans. I showed my self-approved and finally was granted expectance in my
classroom.
Now its still a struggle to be considered African American. For years I was told that I
was African American, until later my teen years my dear mother revealed to me that I was the
descent of German and Irish immigrants. I didnt know if I was to claim those cultures apart of
my identity, my culture. I was questioned on every exam and in every fancied of my life from
that point. Sometimes I picked other because I was confused. But on the inside I felt wrong
when I didnt select African American. The testers wanted to know who did I identified with. I
was unsure about myself once again. I was I still an African American? What should I identify
with?
My grandparents of my parents would be able to tell me best about our culture that flows
through me but they are no longer here. I just remember and gather information from what I over

hear at the standout family occasions we have as far as traditional dinners and strong faith in
God. My immediate family are firm believers in God and identifies as African American so
naturally, I as well. Life in Richmond city and gapes in my culture identity caused me to doubt
who I was or who I was told I was. I questioned why since the culture of my parents are of Irish
and German descent why they confidently identify with being African American? I didnt
believe it was hypocritical, I only wondered since they are rooted in different cultures. The more
I thought the more I questioned. I began to wonder why especially when I tried to identify with
my developing African American identity in grade school they identified with African American.
Was it because of the fact they did not understand about their culture? Why did they classify me
as an African American when others say I am multi-cultured?
In my quest to identify myself, I asked the question to myself who am I? But since I was
unclear someone imparted in me the best way to know what or who someone is, is to know
where it or they came from. Honestly I could only touch the surface. I am light skinned, the
daughter of two African Americans. So I asked my parents since naturally I developed under
their guidance and teachings. They sat me down on our ancient sofa that seemed like a family
air-loom and explained to me why. After my long list of questions and attempts of persuasion.
My father stated although I am of Irish descent and your mother is of German descent we still
are African Americans. There was no confusion or doubt in his statement. I saw it in his dark
brown eyes. Then I finally understood although they identify with African American they still
keep in mind the culture of their ancestry and where they came from after my fathers
explanation. But most importantly my father emphasized the nature of firstly being a human can
help one identify their ethnic identity. They were humans who identified with making an impact.
My parents have a clear view of who they are as people of culture and as human beings.

For me I am to decide who I would identify with although people may say others wise. I
may not know all of my heritage and family culture I know for the fact of impact I can identify. I
am African American who is still seeking answers. It never came across my mind that even
being African American meant I was double conscious but identity is really discovering and
uncovering the inner self. So my parents never abandoned their culture they were being double
conscious, by understanding and remaining aware of their cultures within other cultures. For
even me some parts of my identity are still unfinished but are still kept in my mind. I am a light
skinned African American who is still human.