My autobiography . . .
. . . growing up in the South Bronx during the 80’s, with the backdrop of housing projects, drugs, crime, gangs and a nascent black nationalism that constantly chastised me for not being “black enough”
Why that title?
As stated, my complexion was challenged by my peers. But it didn’t stop there. My interests weren’t black enough, or at all. Neither was my musical taste. Or my outlook. Despite my desire to be a credit to my race, I had no idea that I antagonized the people I sought to belong with.
I never contemplated the question of a black president, but my entire community thought it impossible. To this day I find those who thought, “I never thought it could happen” as part of the problem.