by Ryan Hubbard

Whether surfing the web, watching the news, or just conversing with everyday citizens, it is very apparent that pop culture is saturated with stereotypes ranging from topics of gender to politicians. The terribly irrational and slanted stigma that looms over the heads of millions of African American males is arguably the most prevalent. They are portrayed as dangerous, volatile, aggressive delinquents with a hostile attitude that ought not to be reckoned with. They are seen as gang leaders, drug pushers, and high school drop-outs who roam their neighborhood sporting baggy pants and enormous t-shirts. They are seen as Kool-Aid sipping, fried chicken gobbling public menaces that line jail cells coast to coast. Unfortunately these stereotypes seem to be stuck in minds and media everywhere like wet cement.

Walking through the doors of Litchfield Middle School, I was for the most part oblivious to this stigma; I didn’t even know what the word ‘stigma’ meant. I quickly became ‘alienated from my race,’ so to speak. I was that one kid whose pants never covered his ankles and seemed to reach his belly button. I was the weird kid who said “hello” instead of “hey” or “what’s up?” and my voice always seemed a few pitches too high. I was the kid who had never been in any fight that didn’t involve pillows or water balloons. I was the kid who actually read by choice. My mouth was home to a virgin tongue that had never even attempted to produce a speck of profanity, I had a ‘more harmless than a butterfly’ persona and a smile that seemed permanently plastered to my face, regardless of the situation. I was a member of the chess club and the school newspaper and I had just gotten into comic books. It didn’t take long before I earned the nickname ‘Oreo,’ which is a racial slur used to refer to black people who are ‘white on the inside.’ In other words, ‘Oreos’ are black people who don’t fit the African American stereotype.

At school, students seemed to segregate themselves everywhere. Every morning before the first bell rang to announce first period, students were to wait on the bleachers of the gymnasium and every morning, kids would group themselves. All of the black kids would sit on the lower tiers and all of the white kids would sit on the top tiers. Every morning walking to the bleachers felt like choosing sides. Every morning without fail, I’d climb to the top to join my inner circle of white friends. Sitting there I must have seemed like the red spot on the Japanese flag. It was rare to have a day go by without hearing something along the lines of “hey Oreo” or “Ryan, why are you so white?” or “Ryan’s not really black, he’s white,” while hanging around with my friends. I would usually just shrug it off or just ignore the comment altogether.

The separation of students then seemed to flow from the bleachers to the cafeteria at lunchtime. Most of the white kids preferred to use a specific lunch line even though most of them usually packed their lunches and sat in a certain section of the lunch room. There was never any extra room at the white kids’ tables which formed a sort of exclusive clique. The same could be said about their black counterparts across the cafeteria. I usually sat on the side of the cafeteria with the white kids, where I just naturally fell into place.

After lunch came recess. On nice days when we were permitted to go outside I played soccer with most of the white kids, while the black kids usually played football and basketball. Some days we would have to stay in the gymnasium and the majority of the white kids would stay on the bleachers while the blacks played basketball. Despite my friends’ belief that every black kid was a Michael Jordan protege, I stood out even more on the court because I was the lanky, tall, black kid who was only good at being tall when it came to basketball.

In retrospect, I do not regret affiliating myself with the white kids and exemplifying some characteristics of an ‘Oreo.’ I made really amazing friends, have irreplaceable memories, and was loyal to myself even if I did stand out a bit along the way. Nowadays, when people call me white, I let it roll right off my shoulders because I’m proud of who I am and know that despite any circumstances, one’s character can transcend all colors and stigmas.

People of all races need to work to suspend judgment and preconceptions in order to see people for who they really are. Those stereotyped need to realize that stigmas are groundless and transparent and overcome them. Arabs shouldn’t be expected to be terrorists, blondes shouldn’t be expected to be stupid, Irish people shouldn’t be expected to be drunkards, Americans shouldn’t be expected to be fat and self-righteous, and I shouldn’t be expected to be anything I don’t care to be either.