I'm a Becky

Well, my real name is Rebecca, but I've always gone by Becky. Recently, I learned that Becky has become a term for an ignorant, racist white woman. My initial reaction was to be offended. Then I remembered:

• I grew up in a very white suburb that was once a sundown town
• I've asked to touch a POC's hair
• I've rapped along with K-Dot and Junglepussy... "ni**as" and all
• I've giggled at the viral reactions of Sweet Brown and Antoine Dodson
• I've described people or things as "ghetto" and "ratchet"
• I've said, "Well, it doesn't bother [one POC]" as a defense for something

I'm ashamed to admit all this, but admitting you have a problem is the first step to solving it. Shit, I never even saw my own whiteness before I met my husband. Up until that point, white was the natural default -- it was everyone else who was different.

Then I, along with many other Whites learned (shamefully late, might I add) that unarmed men, women and children of color were being killed by white cops. That Nazis still exist. That racism hadn't gone away; it was merely hiding. 

We learned what people of color had known all along: that this isn't a post-race society. We're not All Good™ and we never have been.

Most importantly, I learned something I'll carry with me for the rest of my life: you don't get to tell someone else what their experience is like. 

So thank you to Jesse, Christopher, Ebony, Meg...

I may be a Becky, but I also want to be better.