I've been a supporter of Sen. Barack Obama for president for 17 months, and one large reason is that he's like me. We share the same Aug. 4 birthday, and have walked similar paths of racial discovery.
Both of us have carved out our niche as individuals able to walk in different circles and still be ourselves. That's not easy; it comes as those around you tell you what they think your "place" in life should be. It's no wonder that I felt violated by the Rev. Jeremiah Wright's National Press Club speech, as much as Obama did.
Wright made me put on my Iron Man suit again.
My Iron Man suit is a carefully constructed armor I created when I was a 6-year-old boy on the predominantly black South Side of Chicago to protect me from the other kids in the neighborhood. See, to them, I was not "black" - I talked "white" and was "smart." I didn't fight or play basketball - and didn't want to - but those were the prerequisites for popularity at the time.
The suit was my knowledge of everything from politics to Chicago architecture to airplanes and cars and "Star Trek." My suit allowed me to tune out those who said "you need to act black to be black."
The Iron Man suit was also used to protect me from anyone white who thought I should fit a common black stereotype. My Iron Man suit has "Repulsor Rays" I use to shoot "protons" of knowledge to prove I was smarter than anyone else in the room. I used the suit to judge anyone as being less intelligent than me if they didn't have a diverse base of friends - if all they had were, for example, white friends.
But a funny thing happened as I grew up. American culture changed such that I needed my suit less and less. More people accepted me as an individual. American pop culture became more diverse. There were more interracial relationships, and no one seemed to care. The guy who runs American Express was black - still is.
But the best thing was that no one was telling me my place; I'd successfully defined it and society - through generational change - kind of "caught up" to me. Or so I thought.
One problem remains, and Barack's dealing with it. In being the first African American who's one step closer to the Most Powerful Job in The World than any black person before him, Obama is faced not just with doing something "blacks don't do" but with upsetting people who wish he would know "his place."
This "placeism" that Barack and I have had to battle with has come back in the face of Wright and yes, Bill and Hillary Rodham Clinton, who worked to remind us that whatever we do, we're still just black.
Both represent the old generation. Hey, so does my mom, and I love her to death. She has struggled for years to get me to take off the suit, and finally gave up.
Mom totally understood Wright's anger, but knows why I have the suit, too.
I don't think Wright's outcry came from a desire to show up Barack, but to scream "Hey. I'm black and proud! You're not going to define me!"
What I didn't like - and got into an argument with my mom about - was that Wright didn't think about success for African Americans of the younger generation like Barack or myself; Wright was consumed with his anger.
And in expressing his anger - in his choice to show his "blackness" and insult Barack's integrity - he made me put my suit on. I think mom realized where I was coming from before I went into full suit mode. She's on my side now.
I resent anyone telling me what kind of black person I should be. I will turn away if one says that I'm the only black person in the room. I don't like it when someone works to wreck the success of a black person just because that person's not "stereotypically black." In my view, that's what Wright did and he owes Obama, and me, an apology.
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