White Girl in Black Face

I understand what Barack is going through. I have also been doubted. Many have questioned my capacity to hold both a white girl and a black girl in the same body without combusting. Many have disputed my claims to ancestry ranging everywhere from Jamaica to Puerto Rico to the Pale. Many have wondered how I could have been conceived in a Hari Krishna temple, birthed by a Jew, and raised as a born again Christian. Many have requested an explanation for how I can have so much rhythm and yet so little street sense. Many have insinuated that it is impossible for me to love women without swearing off men.

Some have gone so far as to suggest that perhaps I am not one of you, that I am not from here at all, but from some foreign planet, a long lost broken off descendant of the big bang. These people have threatened to strip me of my blogging power, thereby depriving the rest of you of strongly opinionated, scarcely researched pieces on my complex inner life, occasional poems and lists of things people have said while high. Could you live without these things? Sure. You could also live without banana pudding and red wine and butter. But what kind of life would that be?

So I say L’chaim, haters! as I humbly offer proof of my deliverance from a uterus right here in New York state. The doctor said I didn’t want to come out, but out I came. And ain’t no putting me back in.

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