Everyone lives in a world of privilege. Whether it is their own or someone else’s, it is impossible to escape that certain people constantly receive the benefit of the doubt or are just entitled to more. Almost inarguably, the best thing to be in life is a young, rich, white man. More and more I have noticed this and it’s worrisome, but I’ve also begun to notice my own privilege. Being a black woman may be two strikes against me, but thanks to my parents I have never wanted for anything. And even more than that, I have been allowed to be stranger than they ever would have considered being at my age. I have a generational privilege.
By ‘stranger’ I mean I have the privilege of acting out my wildest fancies with little repercussions in my environment. I can continue to pierce my ears every year for my birthday with little or no judgment. I can choose to dye my hair any color of the rainbow and suffer no consequences while in college. In the future I might get a tattoo. I am not certain, but I have that choice. The music I listen to, the concerts I attend, the diversity of people I spend my time with, my outspoken nature; all are benefits of being the generation after my parents. I have generational privilege because my parents endeavored to give me freedoms they hadn’t had before.
In my early life, my mother and I both suffered from the same hyper-consciousness. Both of us as girls were always conscious of our failings, and would never try new things for the fear of being laughed at. She played no sports as a child, nor any instruments. She has no piercings beyond her earlobes. She has never died her hair a funny color, only highlights. She listens to R&B and Gospel, though she is slowly liking my music as well. Nowadays she’s a fan of the Black Keys, but then again, so is President Obama.
At the sum of it, my mother was a self-conscious child. She grew up in an area that was different than my Houston suburb or the various other bases we later stayed. The town where my family is from is one of uniformity; small enough that those on the outside of the standard are immediately known about and probably discussed in whispers. Early in my life I tried hard to apply myself to uniformity, but I was constantly aware at any moment I might get laughed at. The older I got, however, I began to realize that my environment wasn’t nearly as harsh as I was imagining. Particularly when I entered high school, I saw people doing just about anything. Any interest I had was shared by someone. I came from being the most uniform of my friends to one of the oddest. I grew less afraid of public outcry. I realized that in the grand scheme of things, what I decided to do with my hair or clothing was of little concern to anyone.
Thankfully my mother has always supported me, even if she does not always like the choices. She paid for me to dye my hair, though it was a natural brown color, and took me to get my cartilage piercings 2 out of the 3 times I have gone. I don’t think my mother wishes she could do these things, but I think she respects the freedom I have. I am of another generation, one that, for the most part, is more accepting of the odd. One privilege does not, of course, raise my status in society. Fortunately, I am not the trifecta of societal disdain. Black, a woman, AND poor would surely put me at the base of the privilege pyramid. Recognizing that I am not where I could be puts me in a better position to help those that are. Recognizing that I owe everything to my parents makes me a more generous person. Recognizing that all of the things I think are quirky about me, everything that makes me so “different” is an allowance and not a rebellion makes me humble. I am allowed to express myself because of my environment, because my parents were not allowed to as much as I, because I live in America where many freedoms are currently in question but many more are allowed. I have just as many problems with America as the next person. It is in need of overhaul, rethinking and reworking, but I am all the better for living here. Something to consider on the 4th of July.