My name is Jasmine Spann. I’m black. I’m mixed, but I’m black. My mom is white and my dad is black. He’s the typical black man. Goes by Dannie T back home, came from Chicago, has a part-time job, and had a baby before he was married, you know the story. That’s the typical story of a black man. Told by a white man. Momma, on the other hand, came from a wealthy white family, graduated from Dowling Catholic High School in West Des Moines, but dropped out of college when she had Jacob, my older brother, with my Daddy.

Everyone said, “Dannie ruined Angie’s life.” The white people, that is, “another church girl knocked up by a black boy.”

My grandparents at first didn’t approve, the neighbors, teachers, everyone white and black didn’t approve. People back in Chicago would say, “Dannie T really settled for that cracker, Angie, huh?” or people at my mom’s church would whisper, “He’s black? What did Marv and Marie say?” My grandparents. Lived through all of the racism, seen what had been done, but never thought it affected them until my father asked for permission to marry their baby girl.

Grandma and Papa were high school sweethearts, prom king and queen, got married young and still madly in love. They know what love is, so when they finally saw Daddy for being a man and not some guy who just wanted to pump and dump, they gave him permission.

My parents are so in love. Real love. They love each other through the hardships and the stares and all of the whispers. I want that someday. I don’t care what color he is.

***

I go to West Des Moines Valley. Still majority white people but there are more black kids here than at Dowling. Still, there’s a lot of white kids here. I’ve heard everything. Oreo, white chocolate, and my personal favorite Half and Half. I get called these equally by black and white kids. To the black kids, I’m not one of them, but I’m also not a white kid. I’m half and half.

I’m not your average black kid, and not even because I'm only half black. It’s because I’m not in a gang, I get good grades, and I don't post #mcm and PMOYS on my social media. Hell, I barely have 300 followers. It’s not that I’m a loser. I just don't fit everyone’s expectations of me. It’s probably because of my big brother Jacob. He is the complete opposite of me. He uses a lot of slang and mushes all of his words together when he is with his friends. He’s gotten into trouble before and a few fights. He does everything the white kids expect him to do. He’s mixed like me but he looks dark skin so he fits in better than I do.

All the black kids I know from my neighborhood and school ask me why I’m not like my brother. He’s one of the coolest kids in school. He’s darker than I am and therefore has more “clout” but Momma and Daddy say they love us the same no matter our blackness, even though sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.

***

It seemed like just another day at school, but today something happened. It was not like me at all. Everyone at school was jumping and getting hype to a song I couldn’t quite make out. I finally got closer and I realized it was ‘Mo Bamba’ by Sheck Wes. It has a lot of profanity in it so I was surprised the teachers weren’t doing much about it until they heard the part “F. S**t. Bi**h!” The teachers were trying to break up the hallway and get kids to calm down. They finally turned the speaker off but everyone kept singing. At one part every white kid went silent except for one. He screamed it. The n-word. Everyone stopped and looked at him, including the teachers. My brother and his friends pummelled the kid. They all got suspended. Not the white kid though.

Walking to my next class I heard all sorts of rumors about my brother. “These black kids can’t control themselves,” or “It’s just part of the song, those kids are insane!” I also heard, “That white kid had it coming,”, which is a relief to hear from a white kid, Shea, my best friend. My other friend Olivia, on the other hand, said something that made me go insane, turn into what these white kids expected from us. Olivia said, “It’s a good thing you aren’t like your brother.” What. The. F.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Liv?” I responded.

“You know, like, you aren’t a black kid, getting into trouble and stuff. You’re more like us,” she gestured towards Shea and herself.

Shea backed up, “What? Are you kidding me?”

“Like you’re black, but not really black,” Olivia said. My hand clenched. It rose. It hit her. Undercut, just like my daddy taught me. “What the hell, Jazz?”

“Black is a color, not a way of life or attitude,” and I proceeded to hit and slap and claw until Jacob pulled me off of her.

“Jasmine,” he said, “Jasmine! It’s time to go.”

“What?” I said, confused.

“We are going home. If the kids at school don’t accept us, then we shouldn’t have to be forced in the same classroom as them.”

I was silent. I just let my brother hold onto me and walk away. There were tears streaming down my face, but I couldn’t feel anything. All I knew was racism is real and words can hurt like hell.