by Olupero Aiyenimelo

Created on: November 24, 2008   Last Updated: November 30, 2008

African-Americans are lazy, unassertive, shiftless, and stupid and don't take advantage of the many opportunities that surround them. Africans are arrogant, they have an odor, they don't comb their hair, and they don't know how to match their clothes. No, I wasn't watching a "Why White people hate Blacks of all Kinds" episode on the Sally Jessie Raphael show; I was right in the middle of this reality series hosted by both of the aforementioned groups.

What side do I stand on? Where do I fit in the scheme of this scenario? Even though the chronological evidence of my earthly existence continues to mount against me, I still feel confusion and bewilderment when it comes to this sensitive and sometimes hilarious issue. Yes, I think it's hilarious especially when I reflect on my childhood. You "African booty scratcher, you look like midnight!" Never mind that the boy who relentlessly teased me was a couple of shades darker than I was, and never mind that his cruel sense of humor masked a crush that he would later reveal. Akata! It's a derogatory term used by many Africans for an African-American, and it's been shouted my way once or twice. The crass term used to offend me greatly until I began using it to describe myself during a rebellious phase. For it's other meaning is that of a rebel or one who goes against the grain. Yoruba pride still grabs hold of me when I can return their endearing terms with a few choice words of my own in the native tongue. All pettiness aside, those cases were and still are few and far between from a personal standpoint, but on a much wider scale, the stereotypes remain rampant.

Even though I don't ever remember having trouble spelling my name, I used to wonder why my parents gave me a name that seemed to consist of the entire alphabet, only rearranged. One thing I do know is that my mother's love of different cultures and my father's love for a headstrong and outspoken young lady, were some of the key ingredients used in a recipe that marks it's inception every 26th day of June. She was seventeen and he was much older. They met while she was in high school and he was in college. As a matter of fact, the high school and college were in the same building, a mystery novel that could only be authored by the Creator. Nonetheless, none of this sat too well with my grandmother, a devout Jehovah's Witness and rightfully so. Not only was my mother just sixteen when she met my father, but she was also my grandmother's only daughter out of five

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