Nothing is More American

America. Home of the brave, the land of the free, a country of opportunity. When most think of America they have visions of communities. These neighborhoods have homes surrounded by white picket fences and children merrily playing on green lush lawns. There are apple pies cooling on window sills. For many this is the American dream. I too agree that this is a dream-for this image is not a true depiction of the country I live in. When I think about this image it is blond haired children that I see in those fenced in yards. Where are the people of color? In this American dream why have I been excluded?

It's sad that in 2007 there is still an epidemic in this country. For years we have been told that this ailment was cured by the Civil Rights Movement of the 60s. Legislature was passed to allow us to go to the same schools. Places boast of equal housing and employment opportunities on their placards. Today we can turn on the television and see that the black faces are no longer the maids or the butlers. Now we are the wise cracking sidekicks, giving sage advice wrapped up in witty attitude to help our white buddies. But here lately the media has been reporting what most Black Americans have always known to be true-that as a nation we're still sick.

I have never had a cross burning in my yard and no one has ever called me the n-word to my face, but I have seen the faces of my Anglo co-workers. Its hard for some of them to mask their surprise when I tell them that I don't have any children or that I do not live in the predominately black side of town. There are preconceived ideas in their heads that I shouldn't know as much as I know or speak as well as I do. But I am not surprised by this. When I was 10 the white father of my twin best friends told me that my family and I were different from the rest of them. I didn't realize at the time that this was a WTF moment. That this comment was his stamp of approval for me to play with his precious children. That had I been like the rest of "them" I would not have been allowed to share giggles with his girls about which boys we thought were the cutest in our class. Nearly two decades later I struggle to remember the names of his daughters but I can't forget what he said to me in the kitchen of his home. What does this say about a man compelled to say something to a 10 year old because his preconceived ideas on Blacks were destroyed by us being ourselves? What does this say about the health of America?

While I fight for people to see me as an individual, I realize that I can't be judgmental of those who can't see a single black female as anything other than a welfare recipient and a crass mother of 6. I can't because I too show symptoms of this disease that afflicts America. Maybe I caught it by watching television, picked it up in history class or maybe while playing with my friends. I truly don't know. But when I heard young Latino men speak to each other in English about computer programming I was taken aback. And even when I think of the perfect neighborhood to raise my clan, Juan and Juanita are not there. And I think I am okay with that. Sadly.

Ah America. Is there anything more American than baseball? Apple pie? Or the racism that allows us to continue to dream of neighborhoods that only people like us can inhabit?

See you in Seven