Black men took over my life gay stories

This article was originally published on QuestionMark. My shirts were so starched they could stand up on their own. My hair was always brushed and oiled.

11 Black Men Share Stories About Encountering Racism Within The Gay Community

This was all preparation for the realities of a harsh world that little Rob had no idea actually existed. I first started really noticing this in my school days. I spent my very first years in a very rough part of the South Side of Chicago. I had little interaction with whites except for my second-grade school teacher.

When we moved to a little white enclave called Beverly, in a nearly majority-black south side Chicago, I began to have white friends. We had friends who did take us in and stood up for us. They shielded from the terrible comments they received from their neighbours and friends.

My mother remarried a Texan and as Texas offered better opportunities than Chicago at that time, we moved to Dallas. I started attending a nearly all-white school. My peers liked me, but they always made me feel aware of my skin colour. This was particularly annoying because I never loved that movie series and that stupid fucking role play game even less.

Junior high and high school were troubling. Not that black people are not smart — the systemic racism in our community sadly has a huge impact on education. But I was black. I never fully fit in here — because of my skin colour and because of my economic background.

I had to get jobs from the minute I turned 14 so that I could keep up with their lifestyle. This way, I could join them at Starbucks for a Frappucino. I could go shopping with them and buy the latest Abercrombie wear. I never got a pair of Doc Martens as they were too expensive, so I had to buy sandals that looked just like them.

I listened to their music. Before I became big gay Rob, I tried dating girls. My first girlfriend was white. It ended terribly, as terribly as a three-month, kissing-only relationship can end. She slipped me a note in 4th-period science class when I broke up with her. Those words stung me so badly that I have repeated them in my head for nearly twenty years.

I showed this note to my sisterwho fought all my battles, and she immediately got her crew to intimidate the girl. I, the victim of a hate crime, surprisingly found myself in trouble. The fact that I had to apologize to my aggressor for making her feel uncomfortable for spewing hatred at me, was a very loud and clear message that her white life was more valuable than mine.