Feb 7, 2019
8 min read
Learning to Own My Blackness
It’s not funny, politicized, or insignificant—it’s mine
Out of my first day of middle school, I thought for certain I’d killed a man. I’d kicked a rider off his bike into moving traffic after he rolled by and called me “sale nègre”—“dirty n*gger” in French. I’d been waiting for the little green man to light up so I could cross the street when I noticed the biker coming from my…
