What's Poppin' Light Bright?
Light Bright?
I almost didn't realize the man sitting on a table outside the Starbucks was talking to me. But I was the only person walking toward him. You see, it's been a couple of months since I've heard the term, an unfortunate reference to my skin color.
I took in his white wife-beater tee, the black shorts, hanging off his ass so that his blue and white striped boxers were fully visible, the fake platinum and diamond chains, the red and black Nikes.
Yeah. Ok. Does he really want to know what's poppin' in my head right now?
His terminology makes me think about all the guys I've known over the years that would say in casual conversation that they'd only marry a light-skinned sistah because they wanted pretty kids.
"But what about your relationship with (insert name here)?" I'd ask.
"C'mon, you know I just fuck around with them dark girls."
His outfit makes me think about how tired and played the pimping of the ghetto is. Last time I heard, Xzibit, Snoop, Warren G, Dr. Dre and Eazy E's widow no longer live in the hood. They're millionaires living in gated mansions so thug life can't get to them so easily.
He makes me think of the heartbreak I see on a daily basis. I just took a driving detour due to loads of police tape. I managed to gaze past the officer sternly directing me to turn, only to see the very visible lump laying in the middle of the road, covered with a white sheet.
All this came to mind as I strolled a span of thirty feet under the scrutiny of his gaze. I replied, in most neutral tone I could muster, "How you doin, brotha?"
"So, wassup?" He started to get off the table.
"Oh don't get up, I can get the door myself."
The teacher voice and teacher look I groomed a few blocks away at the school I taught at in Compton comes in handy sometimes.
He sat back down, silenced. I don't know if he was going to get the door or not but I'm a grown woman and I really don't have time.
And that's what's poppin' with Yours Truly. Light bright indeed.
I almost didn't realize the man sitting on a table outside the Starbucks was talking to me. But I was the only person walking toward him. You see, it's been a couple of months since I've heard the term, an unfortunate reference to my skin color.
I took in his white wife-beater tee, the black shorts, hanging off his ass so that his blue and white striped boxers were fully visible, the fake platinum and diamond chains, the red and black Nikes.
Yeah. Ok. Does he really want to know what's poppin' in my head right now?
His terminology makes me think about all the guys I've known over the years that would say in casual conversation that they'd only marry a light-skinned sistah because they wanted pretty kids.
"But what about your relationship with (insert name here)?" I'd ask.
"C'mon, you know I just fuck around with them dark girls."
His outfit makes me think about how tired and played the pimping of the ghetto is. Last time I heard, Xzibit, Snoop, Warren G, Dr. Dre and Eazy E's widow no longer live in the hood. They're millionaires living in gated mansions so thug life can't get to them so easily.
He makes me think of the heartbreak I see on a daily basis. I just took a driving detour due to loads of police tape. I managed to gaze past the officer sternly directing me to turn, only to see the very visible lump laying in the middle of the road, covered with a white sheet.
All this came to mind as I strolled a span of thirty feet under the scrutiny of his gaze. I replied, in most neutral tone I could muster, "How you doin, brotha?"
"So, wassup?" He started to get off the table.
"Oh don't get up, I can get the door myself."
The teacher voice and teacher look I groomed a few blocks away at the school I taught at in Compton comes in handy sometimes.
He sat back down, silenced. I don't know if he was going to get the door or not but I'm a grown woman and I really don't have time.
And that's what's poppin' with Yours Truly. Light bright indeed.
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