authenticity — Blog (The Dancing Hummingbird)

When I was in high school, I attended a summer theater program at Northwestern University called Cherubs. it was specifically for high school students with an interest in theater. And since it was in Evanston, Illinois, students came from all across the U.S. I loved it.

I don’t know how I got onto the subject, but I remember telling a boy that I was black.

He said, “How can you be black? You’re white.”

To which I replied, “Both of my parents are black.“

“But you’re white… Are you an albino?”

At this point in my life, I was not ready for difficult conversations. I was dumbfounded. Did he ask me if I was albino? Obviously, he was not exposed to many blacks and didn’t know we came in all shades.

Creativity, Authenticity, Identity, MindfulnessKhristee RichOctober 9, 2020black lives matter, authentic writing, authenticityComment

What Were You Taught To Believe?

They taught me to be afraid of you.

“Stand 6 feet apart.”

They taught me to be afraid of myself.

“Wear a mask. You may be contagious.”

They taught me not to trust the strength of my immune system.

“Only medication and vaccines can remedy this.”

They taught me to stay inside. “Don’t go out, unless it is necessary.”

And they closed our beaches.
When natural vitamin D from the sun boosts the immune system.

They taught me to watch the news constantly: for updates and further information.

When fear weakens the immune system and spreads more fear to others.

They taught me that you cannot overcome chronic illness,

but I overcame mine.

They taught me to spy on my friends and neighbors.

No one needs privacy anymore.

They taught me to report anyone acting out of duty.

They taught us that tracking us is acceptable.

They taught me that is not a time for freedom.

They taught me not to think for myself.

They taught me to bully anyone who disagrees.

They taught me to shame, blame, and criticize anyone who thinks for themselves.

Advice From My Grandfather

When I was growing up, I loved spending time with my grandfather. In the summer and for holidays, I traveled down to Washington, D.C. to spend time with him. We used to sit on his front porch and chat and people watch. He waved and said hello to every black person who walked by.

I accompanied him to the grocery store and the same thing, any time he passed a black man or woman he nodded, waved, and said hello.

I asked him, “Who was that?”

He replied, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know that person?”

“No,” he replied.

I noticed the pattern; every single time, he saw a black person, he said hello.

So one day, I asked him why he said hello to every black person.

He stopped and looked at me like I had three heads and said, “It’s what you do, Khristee.”

I took that statement to heart.

I grew up in a white community where my family was one of a couple of black families in town at the time. Besides my family, I didn’t come across many African Americans, so when I went to college and was exposed to more blacks, I made a point to say hello to everyone who I saw.

I See You On Facebook. I Know Everything is Good With You.

I see you on Facebook.

I see your smiles.

I see your cute memes.

I see your highs.

I know everything is good with you.

I don’t need to see your diary entries.

I don’t need to know more than a post,

because you post every day.

What else could you have to say?

But that is only a fraction of me.

I am more than you see.

I have fears.

I have tears.

I have parts of me that I don’t want you to see.

I have shadows like you.

I have a past I try to undo.

I don’t have it all figured out.

I yell. I shout.

I have parts I don’t talk about.

Authenticity, Creativity, IdentityKhristee RichJuly 9, 2020poetry, authentic writing, authenticity, poet, Khristee Rich, Facebook, assumptions, shadowComment

“Definitely Not A Model”

After college where I earned a B.F.A Theatre Performance degree from the University of Michigan, I went to The School for Film and Television in New York City. My scene study teacher helped us to see how casting directors saw us, what types we should play and submit to. We all wanted to know this because we weren’t getting cast in the roles we wanted or weren’t getting cast enough period.

He went around the room telling everyone their types simply from their looks. For me he said the role I would play would be a cop, an NYPD cop, definitely not a model. He actually said, “Definitely not a model.”!! I was so hurt and confused. I never thought of myself as tough or that people viewed me as an NYPD cop and not beautiful. I was 22/23 and I thought I had potential to be pretty. I looked to my teacher for advice and guidance and he told me that I was not pretty enough for TV or to be seen as a pretty role on TV. True, I was not especially curvy, I didn’t know how to do fancy makeup and wasn’t that stylish, but I was slim, and not short. Everyone else in the class was given more flattering stereotypes to play and I wondered why I wasn’t. I concluded that I didn’t like the teacher; he was prejudiced against me and I needed to do something different with my hair.

Growing up I wore my hair in braids every day from age 4 to 13 because 1) I had really thick hair and 2) I wanted to look neat in school and fit in like the other kids. Being a light-skinned African American girl the only way others could tell that I was black was my hair.

They would say that I had kinky hair and if I ever wore my hair down my classmates (the boys) would make fun of me.

My hair was my struggle for most of my childhood. On the weekends other kids played in sports and participated in extracurriculars, but for me I had to pick one day, Saturday or Sunday to wash my hair. Normally, I picked Saturday so that I could have a full day to relax before school the next day. I was allowed to watch one cartoon and then for the next 6 hours I washed my hair and my mother dried and braided my hair. Yes, that’s right, every weekend it took 5 1/2 to 6 hours to dry and de-tangle my hair and put it back into neat braids. During that time, I always wished that I could be playing with friends, playing in sports, relaxing watching TV, or outside playing in nature. After hours of having my hair yanked and pulled tightly with a brissle brush, doused with water, and my skin burned from the hair dryer, my head and neck were sore and I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.

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