Background - Part 2

As I grew up, my wish to be like and look like my stepfather continued. I took every odd glance, every act of discrimination our family encountered to heart. I convinced myself that I really knew what it was like to be black in America - that, in fact, I was for all intents and purposes practically black myself - a sort of inside out oreo.

This delusion came to a head when I started law school. I chose to attend the same law school my parents had both attended - the school, in fact, where they had first met. They were in the school's first graduating class and my dad was the first - the only - black student. "When I was in law school," he would intone, "BLSA [the Black Law Student's Association] met whenever I dined alone!"

Well, when I started there, I decided to join BLSA. But they didn't want me. I was outraged. Didn't they recognize that I was a kindrid spirit? Didn't they know who I was!? I wrote an indignant letter to the editor of the school paper which was, of course, published. BLSA then decided I could join as an associate member. I declined. In my mind, it was too little too late. Besides, finals were coming up and I needed to study.

More later.

Meg