black lives matter — 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

Black Is Always More Aggressive

My parents have some dear friends. They invited them over for dinner one evening. Somehow the conversation turned to black dogs. At the time, my family had two black Labrador Retrievers. My parents’ friends were arguing that black dogs were more aggressive than lighter color dogs. It was an odd conversation. My family is black and they were white. My family had had many dogs over the years: 2 golden retrievers and three black labs plus my mother had a dog as a child. This couple had had one dog: a poodle. My father who loves a good conversation tried to steer the conversation to breeds saying that certain breeds were more aggressive than others and that it depends on how the dog was treated (if it was abused) but they stood steadfastly, saying that it was the color that determined the temperament. My father point black asked, “Are you saying a yellow lab is always less aggressive than a black lab?”

Authenticity, MindfulnessKhristee RichSeptember 2, 2020racism in America, racism in The US, prejudice, black lives matterComment

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.

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