I was born in 1979. I was my mother’s first child and although my grandmother already had grandchildren, I was always told she was instantly drawn to me. She spent her lifetime preparing me for whatever obstacles the world had to throw my way.
My family was driven to enjoy life, consisting of people who “did not look like me.” My parents ended their relationship before I was born and while my mom’s next two boyfriends were Black, she started dating Italian men after the birth of my brother.
These new additions to my family shaped my life. I grew up with the mindset that often people who look, act and sound nothing like you can indeed be your loved ones. To my young, queer self in a “Black-Ish” family, racism was a foreign concept. It didn’t exist in my world. At least not yet.
When I was nine, my mom was having a difficult time dealing with severe post-partum depression. She fought with this instability for eight years before a doctor treated her, leading her to deal with her suffering in other ways. She did the most selfless thing she could, giving my grandmother sole custody of her children.
She never left our lives and was very involved. My grandmother wanted the best for us and had recently moved into her idea of a “great neighborhood,” a bustling city with some of the best schools. It was in Polania, New York, where generations of Polish immigrants lived and raised families. It was in this new environment that I would learn how different I was.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw the word “N**GERS.” It was spray painted on the side of the grocery store at the corner of our street with a huge arrow pointing towards our house. I remember hearing my aunt talking about it with my older cousins and they felt our family was unsafe, but it was my grandmother who stood her ground and said “WE AREN’T MOVING!”
She worked tirelessly and we became the “model black family.” We were well-behaved, we spoke politely, we were well-dressed and completely embraced and embodied the “American Dream.” In time we met the neighbors’ kids and people at our new school, finding that although there were people who didn’t care for our presence, there were also an overwhelming amount of neighbors who welcomed us with open arms.
I was invited to sleepovers and barbecues; I went to churches and parties all the while being YOUNG, QUEER AND BLACK ME. I never had to apologize for expressing myself, but I hated passing the word “N**GERS” everyday on my way to school.
One day I grabbed my aunt’s instant camera. I took a picture of the spray painted epitaph on the side of the building and marched into the grocery store to speak to the manager. When he came to greet me, he looked so puzzled. I told him I was a kid reporter for a show called “Kids Beat,” which I wasn’t, but I figured I had to make this good if I wanted results.
I explained how offended our audience was to see the neglectful inaction of the store for not removing that graffiti and that we were prepared to boycott. He immediately stopped me and asked me to wait inside of his office. After what seemed like forever, he returned and asked me to come with him. To my astonishment he was having it removed upon the communities’ request and in honor of my bravery. He told me how I had inspired him to never be silent on racial issues again. I share this because it was the catalyst for how I would tackle racial issues all of my life.
I was always wrapped in a bubble of privilege and protection from racism, bigotry and transphobia. When I came out as trans at age 15, it was celebrated! The people around me knew that this was who I was meant to be all along. They allowed me room to grow and discover my truth, and I learned that racism is something we should reject.
Over the years I learned how lucky I was, watching friends rage against the world and even hurt themselves from living under the constant dogma of what it is to be Black in America. I did not blame them, although there were times when my privilege showed. I didn’t always realize they didn’t have the tools to flourish the way that I did.
We have the ability together to change the world. I was able and willing over and over again to make changes in my life by rejecting bigotry, achieving things I never thought would be possible. Most importantly, I had love in my life from my family and friends to sustain me. We can use our voices to help uplift others and highlight the good in all communities across our great country, while remembering the systems and ideologies that were put in place to keep marginalized communities in the red. It seems now more than ever that a person is only as strong as the voices and people around them.
All of these things made me the woman I am today with the help of the people around me. I have been and will always remain a proud, Black American woman, undeniably and unapologetically me.
TeMonet is an activist and entertainer who works in nursing and as the co-show director of City Side Lounge. She performs throughout Tampa Bay, where she lives with her fiancée.
Hear from more Black, LGBTQ voices throughout Central Florida and Tampa Bay in Watermark’s full Black Lives Matter feature.
