darlene anita scott
Harpo! Who dis woman?
Mommy, What Does Nigger Mean?
6 March 2011 13 July 2011 darlene anita scott
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl – Age 8
I borrow my title from Gloria Naylor's essay of the same name.
In it she examines the first time she remembers hearing the word–really hearing it–in the third grade.
The experience she describes, in some ways, parallels my own. Certainly, I grew up hearing the word among my elders and peers: "That nigger's paid!" to emphasize good fortune. Or to call out the trifling: "Niggers don't never know how to act."
But the derogatory way that Michael Colpo called it to me on the playground, sadly, marked my youth. I had earned a better grade than him on an assignment, an offense that, to him, seemed worthy of putting me in my place.
"What did you get on the test?"
"A. What did you get?"
"So what?! You're not smarter than me."
**Me laughing at his reddening**
"Burnt chocolate chip!"
"Well, you're an unsalted saltine cracker!"
"Nigger!"
"Honky!"
That's how the exchange went down and off I ran past the two mounted monster tires kids could climb on, into, or jump over. To the monkey bars I went, my choice recess activity, without a blush. Unlike Naylor, I didn't have to ask Mommy anything.
By third grade, my twin and I had been called niggers by the school superintendent's daughter. (When we told we were shushed because we refused to say the word–just called it by its initial–and the teacher played dumb–"What does n-word mean?").
By third grade, I had seen part of the Roots series, the lynching and KKK scenes in Lady Sings the Blues, and was quite versed in how "the white man didn't care 'bout no niggers," thanks to my Dad's still relatively fresh bitterness from Vietnam (and some of it was rapidly growing rancid anger from his youth in the South).
In third grade, and at least up to the sixth, my best friends were White. Yet in the back of my mind, and around 6th grade I discovered in theirs too, the separation was real and inevitable. By high school, those girls and I barely spoke.
The playground experience marks the lesson that Black children have learned/have to learn in this country: how to negotiate in a world that thinks them inferior (and lets them know it at every turn) and how to push through that wind. Sometimes it's a breeze; sometimes it's torrential. Some of us stop and wait for it to pass; the rest of us run right into the thick of it pushing ourselves as much beyond it as one can when it's still blowing nonetheless. My memories of my hometown are no less tainted by those memories, though, and that awkward negotiation shows up in my writing all the time.
In fact my first full length manuscript, my Master's thesis, claims to attempt to discuss how people negotiate boundaries such as race and class and religion. At the writing of it, I was re-living way-y-y-y too much of my hometown in another that was 3 states away. I have little doubt that my 8 year old self–you can't get me; I already know this game–was my mechanism for negotiating that course. And in some ways, it still is.
Posted in UncategorizedTagged education, literary, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl, the writerly life
Previous postI Can Write My Name and Some Other Words Too
Next postLangston, My Man
4 thoughts on "Mommy, What Does Nigger Mean?"
Gloria (aka Mommy) says:
So sad but also so true – regardless of who says otherwise, blacks beginning early in life have to learn to negotiate in a world of whites that think them inferior, tells and/or shows their children (by thoughts, words & actions) and taint the memories of our children so that they have to come out swinging/defensively and some of them begin to believe that they are 'less than'. It was my mission always to let my family know that this was a lie from the enemy – others didn't dwell on it so much. We KNEW the truth about who NIGGERS really were & it had absolutely nothing to do w/the color of one's skin…Thus it set us free in our minds, & regardless of who said we were that "N" word, we didn't accept it and continued to move forward & 'show them' the stuff that is REALLY in us. Gladly this world is not meant to be our home and sooner or later the same ones that got it twisted & called us out of our names to make us feel inferior all the time knowing otherwise, will get their 'just desserts'. Thanks Dar for learning to negotiate in this world – you always have me at your back and we KNOW the truth. Loving you more…. Mommy
darlene anita scott says:
Thanks for helping me figure out how to negotiate Mommy!
Justus Gardenhire says:
I now know from your story that everybody has race,religion,and sometimes just rudeness to judge somebody. I had gotten in a fight about two or three weeks ago and called the kid and said "Put my f**** bookbag down you b****a** n****!" Thank you for telling me it's not ok to say "n" word. I'm 11 years old. Thank you for the valuable lesson. 🙂
18 October 2012 at 9:50 am
Hey Justus,
Thanks for visiting my site and leaving this comment.
I'm proud that you're starting to think about how the way you use language can hurt others. (You know there are a lot of adults that aren't so wise)!
Did I read correctly that you're in Kansas?
Leave a Reply to darlene anita scott Cancel reply
View darleneanitascott's profile on Facebook
View @darleneanita's profile on Twitter
View darleneanitascott's profile on Instagram
View darleneanitascott's profile on LinkedIn
View scottgyrl's profile on YouTube
Archives Select Month January 2022 November 2021 October 2021 September 2021 August 2021 July 2021 June 2021 April 2021 January 2021 December 2020 November 2020 October 2020 August 2020 July 2020 May 2020 March 2020 February 2020 January 2020 June 2019 December 2018 April 2018 January 2018 December 2017 October 2017 August 2017 July 2017 May 2017 April 2017 February 2017 January 2017 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 December 2011 November 2011 October 2011 September 2011 August 2011 July 2011 May 2011 April 2011 March 2011 February 2011 January 2011 December 2010 November 2010 October 2010 September 2010 July 2010 June 2010 May 2010 April 2010 March 2010 February 2010 January 2010 December 2009 November 2009 October 2009 September 2009 August 2009 July 2009 June 2009 May 2009 April 2009 March 2009 February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 August 2008 July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007
daydreams, well meaning rants, and poetry disguised as both
Who's the Boss?
Who's Loving You
darleneanitascott@gmail.com
darleneanitascott[at]gmail[dot]com