InterRacial Relations in the New Millennium

Real Ni$$as* - Real ni$$as are stereotypical street thugs. Their top priority is keeping it real and really representing the reality of real life on the real streets.
*The '$$' may be substituted with any symbol or letter in existence (except the letter "G") when writing about real nizzas, ni**as, or ni&&as. Some choose to use the English "h" … as in "let's get some crack from those real ni@@ahs over there."

This is an essay of hope.

It's about me having my head in the clouds, knowing it, and simply breathing in the crisper, thinner air. When it comes to affairs of the heart, perhaps my demands aren't realistic. But I can dream, I can hope. This is an essay of hope.

The hope, if I may speak frankly, is that I'll someday find a white chick who will still be able to comfortably call me "her ni&&a" in the morning.

That's all I want. All I need. All I ask for.

Comfortably is a key word. I know there are some out there who are open-minded and brazen enough to "wink-wink" and call me "her nizza" in a faux-hood accent. And I appreciate that. I would certainly commend any of those girls for possessing an advanced sense of humor, and sophisticated sense of social nuance.

But it's uber-sophistication to comfortably call me "her nikka," casually, without thinking about it. That's visionary. That's genius.

Is it a vision that comes before the first black president? Is it a genius that realizes any gender or ethnicity could make a capable president, not just old white men? I'm not sure. I just know it's not a present day situation.

But I have a dream. I have hope.

I know this dream is possible because I live in its foreshadow.

I wish my life occurred in the big moment, the climax. But I know now that I'm just a subtle layer in the first act that enriches the tale upon further examination. I am but a literary device in the story of life, and my experience alerts me to what the future may hold.

That experience has taken me from the streets of the South Bronx, backstage at Run-DMC concerts in Madison Square Garden, to clumsily cradling a lacrosse ball with a friend's stick (of course I don't own my own) in Pomfret Connecticut, or Wallingford Connecticut, or Greenwich Connecticut, or it doesn't matter cause it's the same as South Bronx, Flatbush, or Queensbridge New York … the same but different.

So I know exactly how and why my ni$$as on the streets use the word with such frequency, and how and why my ni$$as up in the C-to-the-T don't.

But I have a dream.

Maybe cause I've dated and had relationships with a few white chicks in my day. Maybe cause my pops dated white chicks when I was young. Maybe cause I had the chance to have my first inter-racial relations when I was twelve years old at Choate Rosemary Hall. Her name was Tuni. Actually that's what we called her, but her real name was Patricia. And it was funny because my name is Patrice, and hers was Patricia, and she was white, and I was black, and she was a girl, and I was a guy, and my how fast that merry-go-round goes at twelve years old.

Maybe that's why, to me, a white chick is just light-skin.

But that's not the only reason I hope.

I also hope because I have a circle of friends who had the same experience, leaving New York City's streets to learn about life and love in a much more privileged fashion. And as educated and prim and proper as we can be in our blue blazers and khaki pants, when we're hanging out by ourselves the ni@@a-dialect flows like pints of Guinness at an Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day. On the last St. Patrick's Day on Earth, and the pints are free.

And sure if the professor busts in we can juxtapose the central repressions of the two central figures in the movie "Training Day", showing how the dichotomy parallels the socio-economic paradigm of a totally Marxist society. But when they leave we're going to say, "yo, this ni&&a. This ni$$a right here. Yo, I can't believe this ni%%a said that. That's a crazy ni**a right there."

And all my ni@@as will nod in understanding. And those nods will say, "indeed, the dichotomy does parallel the socio-economic paradigm of a totally Marxist society." If not that, then they nod in mock affirmation and tell you to stop hogging the blizzunt.

Now I've dated a few black women in my day, but never anything serious. I don't know why. I wonder all the time. I don't think it's a problem … but maybe it is. I don't have anything against black women, it just so happens my predilection steers towards lighter-skin. I suspect the only reason I feel it may be a problem is because I know I'm not in the minority. But trying to figure out if I've been brainwashed is not the point right now. The point is that I don't really know the niggonometry on black females and how frequently they use the term "nillah" with their partners. My educated guess would say they use it less than black guys and more than white people. So I suspect if I'd been with more black women in a serious capacity, I'd have less concern about realizing my dream. I think it's definitely possible to meet a black women who will comfortably call you "her ni%%a" in the morning.

But personally, I've had more dabblings with light-skin ladies. I didn't go away to prep school and shirk my cultural responsibilities. I had t-shirts made up that said "Live Out Your Sexual Fantasies With a Real Live Negro" for my sophomore year at Choate. Unfortunately I got kicked out and had to go to a different school. At the next boarding school I operated with the same mantra, just didn't promote as much. That kind of thing is better spread through word-of-mouth anyways, there's a particularly viral stickiness inherent to the product.

And of course this is an oversimplification. If girls really all had that mentality I probably wouldn't have actually gotten any. But I do know for some, curiosity may have been a bigger impetus than actually wanting to live together, meet her parents, and start a family like most teenagers.

So when I think about my marital future I see light-skin brides. And since you have to sacrifice your friends (and don't tell me you don't) when you take the plunge, I wonder will she be able to fill that ni&&a void. Because when I think about my future I also think about who are going to be my ni$$as. When the ni**a-dialect flows like Guinness, that makes me feel like I'm home. I'm safe and secure. Can I live and have that element of my life completely cut off? I mean I could … but do I want to? Is that right? Wouldn't Malcolm frown upon such a move? And more importantly wouldn't I? Certainly denying a part of your life that you enjoy and appreciate is not genius.

That's why I dream. That's why I hope.

I know right now a white chick is just light-skin. And that's good. But I know just as well she damn sure ain't blurting out, "that ni&&a right there is crazy" during Training Day. She doesn't know that life. She hasn't been exposed to that sensibility. There isn't a ni@@a prep school that she might go to as of yet. There is only the dream of a ni##a prep school. (Choate Roseni**a Hall?)

So even though I might consider myself to be "chilling with my ni$$a," we're more likely to have tea & crumpets while watching Training Day, than a rousing exchange in the ni^^a-dialect. And that's cool. There's still an advanced sense of social nuance to be respected there.

But it's not really futuristic. It's not visionary. So for all you light-skin girls out there, my ni**as, if you will. This is an essay of hope. Be visionary. Be futuristic. Be genius.

And if you're feeling comfortable, go ahead and call me "your ni**a" in the morning.