#growingupblack
This is bittersweet for me. I have many fond memories of “growing up black” but I now recognise it as a deeply harmful set of experiences.
Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed fighting younger cousins for jolofrice, having multiple grandmothers that aren’t related to you. (sadly did not translate into multiple Christmas presents)
I love black comedy laughing about my experiences as a child of immigrant parents. Here are a few of my experiences. Which Instagram had brought to the surface when I still had it.
1. I saw a reel from clearly Gen Z talking about “when you have used up your “Fun once a week card” WHAT THE HELL???? YOU GUYS HAD FUN EVERY WEEK??? Boo I was a millennial, the generation before and we had fun once a semester. If I wanted to go socialising multiple times a term, I’d have to face the Spanish inquisition in the form of my parents, whose immediate phrase was “You no wan learn book again eh?” You no longer want to study and be successful. Guilt trip extraordinaire.
2. Corporal punishment. I was smacked as a child, occasionally with a ruler, I received the good end of the stick, look up on the internet what other people got. BELTS, shoes, McDonald’s balloon holders from the 90’s. (don’t ask, just pray for the shoe on that one.) people were being beaten within an inch of their lives. It wasn’t punishment, it was anger management therapy for the children and all it taught us was fear. Fear your elders because they can cane the hell out of you. My dad never hit me. 30 years, he never hit me. Only my mum.
3. Neglect. As an adult, I can now understand that many of my acquaintances were neglected. People who were given PlayStation instead of parental love and affection= neglect. People going to school with unwashed faces and uncombed hair and worst of all dry legs.
4. Taking tissue everywhere, and cream- to avoid having runny noses and dry legs because appearance was everything
5. Pitting children against each other. It took me so long to have any sort of kindness for my cousin who is 2 months younger than me because I was always pitted against her as a child. Who could be more successful? She was seen as a rival rather than my cousin and someone who should have been a playmate.
6. Ap hope culture and “your kids are your pension” -Forming an immense pressure to succeed due to the sacrifices our parents made for us.
7. Dysfunctional parenting- Adultery=common, separation=common, financial fraud= common. And all the trauma wrapped up in that,=common. Half siblings and all the problems that creates=common. White people are starting to wake up to this particular nightmare. I feel for you.
8. Finesse- the art of conning someone by telling half truths and the STRESS that entatils. Also common.
9. Bible bashing- our parents ramming the bible down our throats as a means of keeping us nice and docile. Horrendous. There is a way of teaching religion without using fire and brimstone, and the cane. African parents haven’t discovered it yet.
10. Showing off/neauveux riche. Everyone is desperate to prove they aren’t poor. Honey, we’re all poor compared to Jeff Bezos, accept your L.
11. Sending money “back home” Honey, if that is your home why are you here making us all suffer? Man can’t serve 2 masters and often the ultimate master our parents served was the master of appearances back in Africa, we treat our African distant relatives better than we treat our close relations in the UK. I hate it. When sending money to Africa, the minimum denomination you send is £50. After that its £100, then £200. You may sometimes be asked for £150 but that is rare. Its almost always £200. And that gets expensive quickly, because only you know how long it takes you to earn £200, it may take you a day, or a week, but they expect it right now. No one really cares about you and you are on the other side of the phone, on the other side of the world, desperately pretending that they do. That there is a place for you in their hearts that hasn’t been paid for with money. My loves, it has and the moment our parents stop sending money, affection is short and fleeting. But our parents sent money throughout our childhood so no one cares.
12. Lack of softness and tenderness. I was shown love. I was shown care, but I also grew up hard, parents (mum) always shouting, she was always busy with something. Full time work, full time study, church, cooking African food for hours… Always. But it meant she was rarely there for softness and cuddles, she couldn’t afford the time. My dad however didn’t care about any of that. He wanted his cuddles and he wanted to be a present parent and enjoy his lastborn child. I as a result was given tenderness. I was a rarity. My peers had their faces washed, their hair combed and yet no hugs, or affection or gentleness, our mothers were pillars of iron, hard and brittle and what happens if your father is just as hard? Or if you don’t have a father?
13. Hair. Sweet lord, we were glorified guinea pigs growing up. To perm or not to perm? That is the question. At least in this day and age if you perm your kids hair you know you are harming the child. We had all sorts of conflicting information as to if it was good for hair or not. (spoiler alert, it isn’t) Natural hair styles were demonised because they weren’t western and boys took away our cornrows. Who wants to wear cornrows when all the boys have the exact same hairstyle? Not me when I was 12 and I paid bitterly for it. The only other option was extensions to make me feel feminine and they were an unmitigated disaster. Various “aunties” posing as hairstylists and yanking my hair out at the roots.
14. Amateurism. Everyone has a fucking friend for that. We had our London home renovated by the son of a family friend…who ran out halfway through the job having taken all the money for it. In the end the crew he brought on to do the work with (the plumber and electrician) felt so bad by what he’d done they did the work for free and we paid for that in other ways (note, there is no such thing as free) My dad’s funeral and my wedding BBQ were both done by the same caterer…I hate her food but she is the best friend of a family friend so we can’t get rid of her. My second wedding dress was made by that family friend who is an actual seamstress. I will write a whole post about the disaster of my wedding and that dress. We can’t go out and get 3 quotes for major expenditure… no…God forbid. A friend of a friend will do it for you, and you can’t say no because you’ve now told your friend your business and they’ll be “hurt” if you don’t go with that person.
15. Respect= As children we are taught Respect, which is a polite society word for fear. Respect your elders (fear them, they can cane you.) respect the church (fear them, they can send you to hell) respect your husband (fear him, he can throw you out onto the street without a penny) and so fear is all we know. How do we function as relatable human beings with complex emotions when we were only brought up on one? Fear. We have issues discussing our emotions, because that wasn’t encouraged as children, we have issues with genuinely respecting authority and with institutions. So as a result we are born from more casual unions and the associated problems that brings because we totally disassociate from feelings and can have sex without love. We have more mental health problems (but are utterly amazing at hiding it) because we are taught to live on high alert in terms of fear because there is so much to fear. Financial instability of our parents, constant fear of disgrace within the community due to things like sexual orientation, institutions and racism and perceived racism. We learn to fear everyone and everything which is why our cortisol levels could fly a jet to the moon and back. We don’t seek help because that isn’t “black” and therefore suffer more. The community can’t and won’t help us because its taboo.
These various things, to greater or lesser extent break my heart. We laugh because we survived. Not realising that so many people didn’t get out. For some people, their parents neglect killed them, for others it was the impoverishment as a result of their parents sending money back home. Or maybe they weren’t beaten half to death, they were beaten to death. Sometimes parents take it too far.
The only thing I do know is that I don’t choose it for my children. I want them to enjoy squabbling with siblings over Grandma Glena’s jolofrice. I want them to wear Africana’s with pride. Have the protective styles. But all the suffering and trauma attached to it? Oh hell no. I want a better life for my children. I want my mistakes to be different to those of my parents. To make the same mistakes 2 generations in a row is just cruel. I know for certain we lost people due to the above, I also know that I am one of those people we lost. I breathe but only just. #growingupblack hurt me way more than you will ever know.
So here’s to the new hashtag.
#growingupblessed.
Grace and Courage.
Annetta Mother Smith.