I care about school. Does that make me an Oreo?

By KRISTINA BROADIE
Published on: 08/07/04

Apparently I am an Oreo. According to the past few generations' terminology, an Oreo is not a cookie made by Nabisco but a person who is black on the outside and white on the inside. Now, I admit that I could switch places with any member of *NSync, a late-'90s boy band, and perform a concert, and the fans wouldn't notice. But that doesn't make me an Oreo. And, if *NSync's fan base is mostly white, that doesn't mean I'm not black anymore. I'll be black forever.

The words black and white don't just mean color anymore. They describe actions, behavior and intelligence. Black symbolizes guns, violence, "ghetto fabulous" behavior, a job at McDonald's, overall failure in life. And white is a Harvard graduate, CEO of a Fortune 500 company, a house in the Hamptons, success.

These stereotypes let all of the air out of a little black kid's balloon. And if the stereotypes don't do it, some other black people will, starting with your education.

It is dangerous for a young black female like me to be surrounded by other young blacks who don't value their education. 'Cause I'll tell you, the feeling can be contagious, especially in middle and high school, when fitting in is in and standing out is way out.

At my middle school, I stuck out immediately. On my first day, I quivered with my *NSync notebook in hand, as I felt my way around school. I was ready to learn and very surprised to find the majority of my fellow black students were not.

"I've never met black kids like this," I told my mom over my afternoon snack. In my reading class their eyes slit my throat as I raised my hand to answer questions. During social studies, I was the only black student who didn't get into trouble with Ms. Burch. She actually liked me; we shared a love of *NSync. Even though I found a connection with Ms. Burch, one that we still share, I couldn't seem to find that basic connection with people who looked like me.

The difficulty of coping with the ridicule became a lot to bear at a time when having and making friends was the issue of the day. Being called an "Oreo" or "Miss Smarty-Pants" and "brainy" became normal, but I was never completely numb to the implications of these words. When the people who should be complimenting and congratulating you on your accomplishments are treating you as if you sell drugs, it doesn't feel as if you are doing the right thing.

This feeling has continued into high school and probably will continue throughout my entire life. But I am tired of being surrounded by those who don't apply themselves because they are afraid of what other people will think.

What will people think when they see you working at McDonald's? Will they think about you or the black race as a whole? I'm looking for a place — a school, a university, a community — where being "young, gifted and black" works for me and not against me. Where I can display my intelligence the way I display my clothes, and speak the way I was raised to speak. And that's not white, black, yellow, green or blue — it's simply the proper way to speak.

I was raised to respect my education and the fact that I am blessed to have an opportunity that others before me didn't have. And I will not waste my opportunities. I will continue to take advantage of them so I won't have to settle for flipping burgers and salting fries.

I will be successful, have an impact and continue to flourish as a young black woman. And for all those who are curious, the only Oreos I'll see will be the ones in my dorm room. But what does it matter — I only eat the cream anyway.

**This article can be found in the Atlanta Journal Constitution, on Sunday, August 8^th, 2004 in the @ Issue section.

Click link below for the official link:

http://www.ajc.com/opinion/content/opinion/0804/08school.html