Story Institute Imagine Your Stories Again…

A Culture of Disrespect
© 2008 – Kim Tipton Scott

My great-great-great-grandmother
Was an African princess kidnapped from her homeland
And forced to take a long, long, trip
In the hold of a raggedy ol’ slave ship.
Great-Great-Great Grandfather was the man
That owned Great-Great-Great Grandma’s new home…
Don’t know his name but all the slaves
‘Round the plantation called him “Massa” or “Boss”
Great-Great-Grandma was born into slavery;
With more than one name
Massa called her winch; Ol’ overseer called her mammy
And her husband; Great-Great Grandpa
They both called, “boy.”
Great-Grandma remained in the south
after slaves were set free
Where the white folks greeted her as “Nigger”
Great-grandpa as “Coon” or “Black Sambo”
And all eight of their beautiful babies…”Pickaninny”
Whatever that means.
Grandma, a “Colored woman” left the South and headed North
With that handsome “colored” husband of hers
And all of their little “colored” kids.
Mamma and Daddy were hard workin’ “Negroes”
Tryin’ their best to teach all five
Of their “African-American” children
How not to hate in a world so full of hate.
I was born a Black-American and after all these years
White folks still clinch and clutch their purses,
Follow me around the store and lock their car doors
When I cross the street…
Meanwhile, writing articles labeling me genetically inferior
Among other things.
And though they don’t call me those bad names anymore,
At least not to my face
Their actions speak so much louder than their words.
But what I’d really like to know
Is why they seem to be so afraid of me?
When looking back in retrospect;
I’m the one that should be afraid.
Yet and still, they expect me not to hate
Even though they’ve caused me
A culture of much disrespect.

Kim’s web presence is: http://knowyourhistory.info