I’m in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. Two of the GPs are out, and there’s an understandable delay. I’m not happy, but being retired has its advantages. I had not packed my day chock-full of All The Things To Be Done On My One Off. I’m not stressed and have time. My doctor is in the office, and I absolutely do not wish to reschedule until next month or possibly longer, so I wait.
A patient is making his displeasure at the delay known to the nurses at reception. As in I can hear his complaints over The Hu (a Mongolian folk metal band), over my iPod (yes, I still use my iPod). A woman sitting near me and I give each other the “Oh, you him too, huh?” empathic smile that all who have gone through such before have, and strike up a conversation. I am a born and bred New York City; she is a transplant from another state, living here for less than two years. We touch on television and learn that we both have a penchant for period dramas. We spent a few minutes on classic books, version the Hollywood interpretations, and that’s when it happened…
She shakes her head, “Wow…”
“What?” I ask.
“You. The way you speak… You’re well read and very artic…”
I am going to gather she stopped short at that point, less because her brain kicked in and more because I’m sure my expression went from amicable to apoplectic by the second syllable of the classic “A” word used with well-spoken blacks: Articulate.
Was it because I did not interject “like” and/or “you know” every fifth word or so? Perhaps it was my lack of “neck roll”? I do not know. However, I’m pretty sure I popped a capillary or two in my efforts to restrain my agitation at hearing this.
Worse, I am hearing it from someone less than 30 years of age. Someone who assuredly should know better, coming from a – not major, but a metropolis. Geographical differences aside, clearly Barack and Michelle Obama, Kamal Harris, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, and Maxine Waters are ethnic flukes, as though they do not speak the same English spoken by the majority of people in this country.
“I mean, I mean….” She starts the familiar back-peddle seen often when people are caught hoisted on their own petard.
“Oh, I know what it is you meant.” I stop the peddling in its tracks. “I don’t know what you were exposed to in (name of city redacted to not paint all of its denizens with the broad brush of ignorance), that gave you such preconceived notions, but for the record, it is not a compliment to be surprised, or worse, impressed, that a person of color can speak well as though it is such a foreign concept. And, it is incredibly condescending and patronizing to think we should feel complimented that it’s noticed and meets your unasked-for approval.”
Suffice it to say, the conversation ended there. It was just as well, for my name was called to see my GP not too long after.
It is amazing that this still requires clarification, but here it is: some of us (Black people) become a little perturbed when people call out our articulateness.
It perpetuates the stereotypes that Blacks speak mostly in slang, in African-American Vernacular (aka Ebonics), or in anything other than standardized English. It is also divisive, a separating of us into an “us” and “them”. It is the stereotype that is perpetuated even within less affluent black communities every time a well-spoken black person is accused of “talking white”. The stereotype that equates articulate styles of speech as belonging to “Caucasian” rather than belonging to “intelligence”, as though one was still the exclusive dominion of the other. Blacks do not assume every white person speaks with a major in English, so why is it still a thing of note to some when encountering those of us who have a more extensive use of verbiage, diction, and enunciation?
Here we are in 2036 Anno Domini (CE for those who prefer the secular nomenclature), and it’s an aggrievance that yes, this is still a conversation.
Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Day 3 – Two Writing Teachers.
Raivenne-lations 