Wish...

I wish I didn't have to write this particular entry. It is something I feel must be said, but I really wish I didn't have to.

No, I'm not quitting skating; at least not yet. That entry may be written in a few months at the rate things are going. This is about something else:

Being African-American is not something I can change, nor is it something I WOULD change, if I could. I am comfortable in my skin and THAT has taken a long time. I grew up being made fun of for various reasons, not the least of which was the color of my skin. I always loved to read and as a result, scored the second highest reading score in my school (my sister scored the highest). I scored an upper class high school level reading score while in the 4th grade. Several of the teachers didn't believe it, thought I had cheated and wanted my sister (who in the 5th grade, scored a college level reading score) and I to take the test again.

We didn't.

I mention that because of an incident that occurred on Sunday at the rink. I have been one of the monitors at the Sunday morning session for two years. I know the name of every little pony-tailed skater out there; even the ones who look alike. Until last year, I didn't realize that little girls between 9-11 years old who hang out with one another actually start to resemble one another. Be that as it may, I know their names. Until last month, no one knew mine.

When I started monitoring, I introduced myself to every skater and every parent. I learned their names; two minutes after meeting me, they forgot mine. Week after week, I was called "The Monitor". I have a name.

One morning, while checking skaters in, I stopped, looked down at the girl in front of me and asked, "What's my name?" She stammered and looked around and finally admitted that she didn't know. I reminded her that I told her my name last year and she said, "Monitor?" I suppose that was her attempt at being cute; it wasn't.

I asked every single skater and parent if they knew my name: only the other monitor and her daughter knew my name. After telling all the skaters and parents my name, I've tested them every week since.

These people knew the name of every other skater and every parent, yet, no one bothered to learn MY name.

Did I ever mention I am the only African-American on the session?

It is as bad as when I went to Lake Placid, and being the only one of color on the ice, every coach knew my name. It's either too much or too little.

The real reason I mention this is an incident that occurred last week. One of the skaters (and she's 16 years old, so youth cannot be blamed for this) arrived at the rink without her mother (and her mother is very vocal in the club). Skater needed a session card and mother had given her a check for said card. On the envelope was the name of two other monitors. I was sitting at a table talking to a parent who is also a coach. Skater walks up to the table, looks at me, announces that she needs a session card and hands it to the parent/coach. Looks at me again and sits down.

I turned to the parent/coach and said, "What the hell was that? I am right here and she couldn't hand ME the envelope? What did she think I was going to do with a $220 check? Buy drugs?"

The parent/coach made excuses from "maybe she didn't see you" to "she's young", but I knew the reason. "I have to put up with this nonsense every single day in my real life. I don't need to put up with it here. This is one of the reasons I will not be back next year. This skating club doesn't deserve my money and I don't need to skate their sessions any more." While the parent/coach tried to tell me otherwise, I knew that the skater never saw me as anything more than "the help". I had no name, served no purpose other than to help her and the other skaters.

I feel sorry for people like this. I wish I could make everyone a different ethnic group for one month, not one day, one month. Experience what it's like to deal with DWB (driving while Black), being followed around in a store or when speaking passionately about something, having some chuck-wagon think you're angry. Experience the negatives and the positives: being able to keep time with music, (for many) having a strong relationship with your chosen religion, and (for women) having the curves some other women envy and some men lust after. Yes, these are stereo-types, but I wanted to paint a broad picture. Hollywood paints a very broad picture of African-American women. We are only beautiful if we are part white (Halle Barry) and if we're not, we have to be "big boned".

I will step down from my soapbox now. I have had my feelings hurt and I have been slapped in the face. Maybe this is why I like the Deaf so much. They don't care what color you are; they care if you can sign or not.

Wouldn't the world be a much better place if that's how we all felt? Who cares what color you are. Can you communicate with me? Yes? That's all that matters.