An American Rose Called by Any Other Name...

I'm about to ruffle some feathers and it's about time. An Anglo told me that they did not want to offend me but they were confused why some of us are Black and some of us are African-American.

BLACK PEOPLE and ALL People of Color born or naturalized in this country are AMERICANS. PERIOD.

I am an AMERICAN...just look at my passport. Everywhere in the world that I have traveled to, people said, "Oh, you are an American." That's right. No Hyphenated Bullshit.

I recognize that the whites are calling themselves American and NOT a Hyphen American label but ALL the People Of Color are put in a hyphenated category. This has nothing to do with being PC. The MAN has categorized you, AGAIN.

Marinate That Part.

Africa is a continent not a country.

Enslaved Africans were INTENTIONALLY mixed up so they could no longer communicate with their own countrymen in their native languages. So those DNA kits will typically list more than one African country of your ancestry. Ol' Massa raped our African mothers so you most likely have some of his this and that in the mix.

My grandparents (with the exception of my white grandfather) were called "Colored" and born in America.

My parents were called "Negro" (Spanish for Black, also used in slave records) and born in America.

My American birth certificate identifies me as "Negro".

They have labeled us since they brought us here.

I am an American.

I am of one race - Human - and of Mixed Ethnicities.

I identify with my Black Heritage, and acknowledge my European and Native American Heritages.

IMO that hyphen is just another way to separate us from them. It is the new slave label as far as I'm concerned. I have pissed off a lot of Black folks who wave their AA flag proudly, especially when I query where exactly did their people come from. The majority of us do not know and it's not our fault. They are appalled when I say that I am not African-American. They think it has to do with my complexion but it does not. They think I am not proud of my roots for saying such. That is not my narrative.

I grew up with older cousins, fists in the air, voicing, "Say it loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud. Baby, can you dig it?" I am in every sense of the word Black but my Nationality is American.

I know that there are SOME true African-Americans here like President Barack Obama... father from Africa and mother from America. But you don't know anyone's ethnicity just by looking at them. Go to any country, and no matter what people look like, they identify with their NATIONALITY. This New World country was built with the blood of slavery, and this racism will be not be fully dealt with until each and every one of us is finally acknowledged for who we truly are. AMERICANS.

Baby, can you dig it?

memoir: solo celebrating in paris

I went to Paris for my birthday with the intention of having my celebration at a particular restaurant. I tried using their online reservation while still in the US...no response. I tried using their online reservation when I got to Paris...no response. I walked to the restaurant to get a dinner reservation. It went like this with the maitre'd:

Bonjour! Je voudrais une réservation pour le dîner ce soir, s'il vous plaît. 
Oui madame. combien pour le dîner?
Une, Monsieur.
NON! ...shaking his head at me. 
I try again:
Je voudrais une réservation pour le dîner ce soir, s'il vous plaît. 
Oui madame. combien pour le dîner?
Une, Monsieur.
NON! ...again shaking his head at me.
Mais c'est mon anniversaire!
Oui madame. combien pour le dîner?
Une, Monsieur.
NON! ...shaking his head at me again.

So then I switched to English which I suspected he knew, and I had no intention of leaving until I got my reservation. 
Okay, it's MY birthday and I came to Paris to celebrate MY birthday HERE...and you know why I am HERE, so don't look at me like some crazy American woman because we all come HERE for the same reason. It's MY birthday!

He walks off and has a conversation with who must be the manager. They both are looking at me while speaking rapidly in French, and then finally he returns and says, Oui madame, par ici...as he starts to guide me to a table. 

I thank him then clarify that I want the table for later that evening. You should have seen his face! Mortified by my request! I explained that I have been on walkabout all day and needed to go back to my chamber de bonne to change. He points to his watch and says, Une heure! I graciously thank him again, promised I would be back in an hour...and told him it better not be a table by the kitchen. He knew what table I really wanted but it was already reserved which did not surprise me.

I returned exactly on time to the minute, and when I walked in the door, the maitre'd threw his hands out, then clasped them, and said, Mon Dieu! It was because he had not expected this crazy American to be properly dressed for dinner, including my pearls! I got the BEST table in the restaurant...better than the one I had initially wanted (where Keaton and Keanu sat)...and had the most impeccable service with each staff wishing me a happy birthday. The dinner was fabulous...the diners nearby joined in my celebration. And just as I was about to ask for l'addition, that challenging maitre'd brought me a glass of champagne for my birthday with a slight smile.

A lovely Parisian explained to me that one just doesn't dine alone in Paris because dining is SOCIAL. It's not their culture to eat out alone. So THAT was why people stopped talking and eating to stare at me when I sat at my table! At first, it was awkward but gradually I felt as if I were their queen at high court! So I learned a cultural difference (which is the sole point of traveling) but I also got my birthday wish and a celebration that I will never forget.