Race and Pregnancy?

Since I was about 11 years old, I have been acutely aware that I fit a certain profile according to my gender, race and age. Actually the full awareness didn't come until I was maybe 21. Here's a timeline of my racial profiling incidents:

Age 11/12 - My older sister and I are in a music store in the mall, browsing. As we leave, the store security guard approaches us, accuses my sister of theft and asks her to empty her pockets. I am confused for many reasons - mainly though that how anyone could possibly steal from the music store considering these were the days that CDs came in the huge boxes and tapes had those large plastic things covering them. My sister did not have a large bag or big coat on - where exactly was she going to put the stolen merchandise? It wouldn't fit in her pocket. After the security guard gets embarrassed and apologizes because he too has realized it's almost impossible for her to have stolen anything, my sister is very upset and starts crying. I didn't automatically think it happened because we were among the few Black teenagers in the mall, but that experience stuck with me for a while . . .

Age 16/17 - My high school boyfriend and I go to the local grocery store one night to make copies. These were the days before Kinko's where the only places to use a copy machine are the school, the library and the local Safeway. We're in the back of the store making copies for school, when we are approached by the store manager. He asks us if we know anything about a wallet being stolen from a woman in the store. We are confused - huh? We haven't been anywhere in the store besides the copy machine - how we would know about anyone's wallet getting stolen? The manager proceeds to stare at us for a few minutes asking "Are you sure you don't know anything?" It doesn't really cross his mind that if we had been involved in the wallet stealing perhaps we wouldn't be sitting in the back of the store using the copy machine afterwards . . . my boyfriend "gets it" way before I do. The manager eventually walks away. I sit there confused for a few minutes before my boyfriend explains that we're two Black teenagers in the grocery store. Someone's wallet was stolen. Naturally if we didn't do it, we probably know who did. This experience really sticks with me and reminds me of what happened several years before at the music store with my sister . . .

So when I leave for college a year later, in lily white La Jolla, I am very careful to not put myself in a position where ANYONE can accuse me of stealing. I make sure to take my pockets out of my jacket when I enter a store. I catch the eye of the clerks and smile so that I am not perceived as threatening. And I try to ALWAYS buy something - because everyone knows that young Black people don't browse - they "case."

Age 21 - I am in Washington, DC on an internship. I am doing a research paper on welfare to work programs in the District of Columbia as part of my internship project. I head to the main welfare office of DC to get some information on their programs. I have a very difficult time getting anyone to talk to me when I ask for some general info on DC's program. They are pretty rude. Finally, one of the staff asks me straight out, "Young lady, are you here to apply for public assistance?" I am wondering why she thinks I would be there applying for public assistance - haven't I told them I'm doing some research? Then, later as I am working on my paper I realize that except for not having any children, I fit the profile of almost 90% of welfare recipients in DC - I am a Black female in my early 20s. They didn't even listen to me when I told them I was doing research - they dismissed me and assumed I was yet another pathetic young mother who needed some help from the government. It was a really horrible feeling - especially because I realized that there are a lot of women who are treated rudely by the system that is supposed to help them.

For the past 10 years, I have been very aware that I may think of myself as Jam Rockah, everyone I come in contact with doesn't necessarily think of me as an individual. They think of me as a Black woman, and to some that's not necessarily a good thing. If I disagree with them, they think I'm hostile. They assume I can sing. They attempt to appeal to me by snapping their fingers, rolling their neck or using the term "Girl" - no matter that I RARELY do these things. I have come to accept this as we are a nation of stereotypes and frankly, I'm past the point in my life where I feel like educating everybody about the diversity of Black people. I just try to do me and hopefully shatter some stereotypes . . .

For the first time in my life - except maybe when I was a kid - I feel like I am in a more favorable category - the pregnant woman category. And it seems that most people like us. Yesterday I go into the drugstore of a nice part of town and everyone is smiling at me. EVERYONE. From the elderly to the young, from men to women and all races. It put me off at first. Then I started to like it. I realize that has been happening a lot lately. Niceness from strangers. They suddenly talk to me in line to ask me what I'm having or how I'm feeling. IT IS AWESOME. Oh, I know it won't last, but I have to admit it is sure nice to not feel like I have to be on my guard all the time . . .