I've been slacking on the kvetches recently. What can I say, I must be a happier guy now that I get to wear shorts again. Luckily, I have good friends who can pick up my slack. This Guest Kvetch comes from my friend Val. Enjoy.
Everyone who knows me tells me that I'm bad at being black. I can't even begin to elaborate on how many times my black card has been pulled for things like not knowing quintessential gangster rap lyrics or not liking watermelon. I guess I should be proud of the fact that I associate with people who don't see color, but it is kind of a joke when my friends sincerely ask me if I've tried any good tanning salons in the area. They literally forget that I'm black sometimes.
My mother could have at least given me a bit more street cred with a ghetto fabulous name, but my little brother won that toss up and landed himself the name Cleveland, which is more country than it is ghetto. I've made peace with my Christian name, Valerie, but I secretly envy the names of the girls I knew at my alma mater, Martin Luther King elementary school in South Central LA. Of course, the Latishas, Sheniquas and Tenishas were liberally peppered into the mix because black people seem to believe that if you add an Iqua, Isha, or Itta at the end of just about anything, and maybe throw in an apostrophe or two, it constitutes a name.
I was in 2nd grade with a Charmin, and the lovely Precious was a light skinned girl who lived up to her name; she had the cutest dimples I ever did see. Aquanetta's name was inspired by the ever so popular, extra crunchy hold aerosal hairspray. Phemallee's mother thought it would be original to give her daughter a name that is a play on her gender. She was the youngest of seven children, so I'm left to assume that her parents just gave up on thinking of another name.
But my all-time favorite is a name I came to know and love years later, when I worked at a bank in Lynwood. One of the girls I worked with named her daughter A'Blessin, because "After I had her and the doctor handed her to me, I looked into her eyes and said, 'you are a blessin'!" True story.
I guess there is still hope for my children. If they grow up to be anything like me, I need to start working on my distinctly black names now. My top choices are Pinot'Grisha because of my affinity for white wine and Obamaniqua as an ode to our president. Maybe Yu'Nikwa, so the kid feels special.
The black community would be proud.
Everyone who knows me tells me that I'm bad at being black. I can't even begin to elaborate on how many times my black card has been pulled for things like not knowing quintessential gangster rap lyrics or not liking watermelon. I guess I should be proud of the fact that I associate with people who don't see color, but it is kind of a joke when my friends sincerely ask me if I've tried any good tanning salons in the area. They literally forget that I'm black sometimes.
My mother could have at least given me a bit more street cred with a ghetto fabulous name, but my little brother won that toss up and landed himself the name Cleveland, which is more country than it is ghetto. I've made peace with my Christian name, Valerie, but I secretly envy the names of the girls I knew at my alma mater, Martin Luther King elementary school in South Central LA. Of course, the Latishas, Sheniquas and Tenishas were liberally peppered into the mix because black people seem to believe that if you add an Iqua, Isha, or Itta at the end of just about anything, and maybe throw in an apostrophe or two, it constitutes a name.
I was in 2nd grade with a Charmin, and the lovely Precious was a light skinned girl who lived up to her name; she had the cutest dimples I ever did see. Aquanetta's name was inspired by the ever so popular, extra crunchy hold aerosal hairspray. Phemallee's mother thought it would be original to give her daughter a name that is a play on her gender. She was the youngest of seven children, so I'm left to assume that her parents just gave up on thinking of another name.
But my all-time favorite is a name I came to know and love years later, when I worked at a bank in Lynwood. One of the girls I worked with named her daughter A'Blessin, because "After I had her and the doctor handed her to me, I looked into her eyes and said, 'you are a blessin'!" True story.
I guess there is still hope for my children. If they grow up to be anything like me, I need to start working on my distinctly black names now. My top choices are Pinot'Grisha because of my affinity for white wine and Obamaniqua as an ode to our president. Maybe Yu'Nikwa, so the kid feels special.
The black community would be proud.
