Lightskin

By Ashley Bradley

A tragic and unbearably awkward liteskint whom no one knows or cares about has embarrassed herself by penning a cringe-worthy "autobiography". No one has asked for this. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Bradley
• Release date: Mar 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386584957

Book preview

lightskin™

by ashley bradley

for all my lightskin gods: rosa parks, katt williams, eartha kitt, prince rogers nelson, joseph cotton, eve's bayou, riley curry, malcolm x during his perm years, bert from sesame street, and not terrence howard specifically, because gross, but definitely that rant he went on about baby wipes. Iconic, and inspiring. Thank yóu.

Candace

There was some white bitch in my third grade class named Candace who threatened to get me suspended because I quoted a line from Martin at her. Specifically, Somebody dun told you wrong. Whose semi-catchphrase on Martin's was this: Martin's, or one of his alter egos'? Possibly it was an overall show catchphrase, with even Cole and Bruh-Man getting to have an occasional go? Doesn't matter, I was getting suspended either way. Well, according to Candace, who brought her older ~*~ fifth grader ~*~ brother over to, I don't know, fight me? Like, she wanted me to know, somehow, that her brother was capable of getting me suspended. But she also wanted me to know he, personally, could do some sort of specific damage to my person before one of the adult authority figure hoes at the school got around to setting flame to my permanent record, which, as we all know, follows us our entire lives. You misguidedly quote Martin at some stupid bitch one time in third grade, and whoops, you can't even get a job as a fucking fry cook. Not that getting a job as a fry cook is easy to begin with. I don't know how to cook fries! (Yo, I'm afraid of hot grease.) I mean, maybe they give you some quick training? But it's probably better if you just already know how to do it. Which, as I've mentioned, I fucking don't. (If any grease pops on my skin it'll sizzle down to the bone I fucking know it.)

Candace was tall and blonde and she had the exact face of her brother, whose name I don't remember. Probably like Tommy, or Kyle or Sebastian or some shit. Aloysius or some shit. But this was New Jersey, and he was very white, so maybe Joe? No, there were never any blonde Joes--Josh. It had to have been Josh, now that I'm thinking about it. Though, Candace and her bro did sort of seem like they came from the sort of family that'd name all their kids with the same first initial (Conrad?? Colgate?? ugh). Anyway, they both had these really thick, dark eyebrows. Disconcerting with the hay colored and textured ass blonde hair. I'm probably remembering the brows as darker than they were, but their faces looked like shit - that I remember crystal clearly. They were like caricatures of obnoxious white people. But drawn in that weird cut-out animation Angela Anaconda sort of way - unnerving, to say the least.

Why did I say Somebody dun told you wrong? What had prompted me - but most importantly, why did I think it was appropriate to say amongst a group of white people? I was new to this elementary school, having spent the prior two years in a very white Catholic school that somehow turned out to be far less racially and socially scarring than the rest of my schooling years spent in horrid, diverse public school.

There were three new people joining my third grade class that year: fucking me, Shereé and KFC. Shereé was black like me, but not really. She was a real black. She knew all the lingo, had the attitude, fit in instantly, and made friends right away. I, on the other hand, lightskin not only in color, but unfortunately also in disposition, languished. Never mind the fact that I had been sort of brainwashed by the Catholic school way of life. Private Catholic school and not-having nuns ass public school are just...they're so different. The genre of kids are different, especially. Everyone, no matter what school they go to, is a freak. However, Catholic school freaks are...a special breed. And I was at least one-fourth of a Catholic school freak, even though I only spent two years there and never did a communion. Like, at least I never did communion or went to those weird CCD classes - but I had still been damaged irrevocably. I was weird and precious as heck; not ready for the rough, gangland-esque terrain of suburban public school at all. And, again, I was also lightskin. Which is not necessarily a mark against you, if you're the right kind. I, you guessed it, was very much not.

KFC, which was not her name, but might as well have been, was white. But not the good kind of white. She was the type of white that maybe you'd add trash to the end of. Now, KFC was a fucking sweetie pie. She was very cute and bubbly, and occasionally on-purpose funny. But she came from the type of breed that smoked Newports, had those vans, wore wife-beaters as whole outfits, and dated black guys for their ~*~ big dix~*~ and the possibilities of having Timberlands-colored children with curly hair, whose fathers, with their huge penises, would likely be gone before seeing the birth of their child with the same coloring as their favorite construction work boot that they'll never use to do anything exactly considered constructive. She came from the type of white people who'd voluntarily go on Maury to get paternity tests, or have Maury pay for them to get weight loss surgery. Or did you go on Ricki Lake for that? She didn't come from the type of white people who'd go on Oprah, a far better place to go to get free shit. That's how bad at being white her family was.

KFC was from Kentucky and she reminded me of the franchise chain named for the state's food. Like, the inappropriate side of coleslaw and that nasty ass chicken - hence the nickname I only just now bestowed upon her. We became friends via our love for Martin. I forgot who quoted the show first. I'm wondering how it even came up that one of us was quoting the show, so the other could hear and be like "omggg you watch Martin??". It was probably KFC who quoted the show first. She was far more outgoing than I, and would be more likely the type to have the confidence to quote, out loud and unprompted, lines from an at least PG-rated, black-centric sitcom. KFC was bold for that. Like, why did she have zero concerns about the type of consequences she would face being a very white person - even if it was the wrong kind - just quoting black-as-shit lines from possibly the blackest show existing at the time? It's not like she was quoting The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. She was announcing herself as a fan of a show that easily could have been called This Nigga, saying things from the show no white person should ever say, and not being concerned for her safety in any way.

I failed to see that the other blacks in my class had made KFC an honorary nigga, which looking back in hindsight, is fucking bullshit. Why her and not me? Oh...prob cuz I was already black, and didn't need to be given pat-on-the-head honorary nigga degrees. Except, I did??? Like I wasn't accepted by the blacks at all, not even by those odd-ball autistic blacks (they were just violence-prone and spazzin' back in the nineties). I didn't know how to double-dutch; I had good hair but never did anything with it; I didn't own a single FUBU or Tommy Hilfiger garment (not until years later when they were both fucking out of style, of course) - I just was doing being black all fucking wrong. Or, at least that's what it felt like. It would've been cool to have one of my fellow blacks sort of go, Hey, I see you left some Luster's Pink Lotion on your hairline. That is definitely stuff us blacks use on our hair. One point for Gryffindor!. Like, yes, I did something right!! But no, I never received any validation or encouragement. Like, boohoo, but come on! KFC WAS FROM KENTUCKY! I was at least a Yankee, far less anti-black than being from some hellhole below the Mason-Dixon line! I was born in Newark! Black Town! I mean...I never lived there...but I was birthed there - where is my street cred, huh?? I survived being birthed in Newark fucking New Jersey. The Detroit of New Jersey, probably!

Saying stuff like that^, having that^ attitude, is probably why I wasn't accepted. And why didn't I know how to do my hair? Was it really that hard? I had a relaxer, all I needed to do was fucking brush it occasionally? Wha... Like, no wonder these bitches noped me. I didn't even try. You didn't have to try in Catholic school sigh. We wore uniforms, and an Asian priest sometimes came to our class to read to us? I was living on a planet where being true to your, like, identity, was so not a priority. I wanted to hurry up and learn cursive before Easter break (because fuck waiting), and I wanted one of those little cracker things some of the other kids got to eat at church. Those little disks, and also they got some wine. I wanted to be a communion kid so bad and I wanted to write pretty cursive and stare at Father Lee's hairy ass legs and not pay attention to the story at all - like, fuck if my hair is combed and I have cute barrettes. Who cares? Certainly none of these random actual nuns.

I guess I felt safe quoting Martin because KFC was around. We were in a crew of other white kids, which included, of course, Candace. Candace and I, at first, were vaguely friends. Well, frenemies. We didn't like each other at all, but it was like whatever. To quote Drake, because I couldn't be more sad frog meme or lightskin, You know how that shit goes. ................ ..... We had the sort of relationship where basically everything we said to each other was always very thinly-veiled nastiness. Like, lol, we didn't like each other at all and were just constantly sort of battling verbally, while simultaneously being super-poor at maintaining cheerful and jovial tones because we were ~qūte gurls~ and *grit teeth* nice. Looking back, I can see we were both very similar with our passive aggressiveness, embarrassing unrefined sarcasm, and a propensity to tattle because we couldn't fight, and didn't know how to argue.

Candace and I were probably doing our pass-agg just jokes bitching at each other when I dropped the Somebody dun told you wrong bomb. And I remember clearly, that right after I said it, KFC said it, too. Doing the Martin voice, or was it Martin's mom?? I don't know, but KFC was under the impression we were just kicking back and joking around, as was I. Never in my life would I earnestly pull out a Somebody dun told you wrong in a serious manner. Not even eight year old me, who was embarrassing enough to secretly truly believe she had powers like Matilda. And, yes, I was embarrassing enough to be seriously quoting Martin, but ~only as a joke~. I wasn't trying to come for anyone at all. But Candace became instantly enraged. 

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE TALKING TO?!

I probably laughed, thinking she was joking along. Also, KFC had said it, too, so...

YOU CAN'T SAY THAT TO ME! I CAN GET YOU SUSPENDED!

Um.

Immediately, I was terrified. Know this. Candace was a little ass third grader just like me, but all of a sudden, right before my eyes, she had transformed into Hitler President Dinosaur of the United States of RUSSIA THE UKRAINE WE'LL SODOMIZE FUCKING GODZILLA. 

I became even more afraid when all of a sudden an older brother materialized for Candace. I'm not sure I knew about Sean or Jimmy or Toby before that day, but if I had, he'd never been a threat to me. Now all of a sudden Candace was saying she was going to get him, so he could come over and spit in my face and call the police and maybe even threaten to send a letter home to my parents. We were at recess on the playground when this incident occurred, so Candace saying she was going to get her brother meant interrupting him harassing someone, probably playing that game where you lift up people's shirts to try and see their nipples. Danny or Ben or Liam was definitely the type to be wasting his recess in such a manner, instead of doing something productive with his life like reenacting 98 Degrees videos, or fucking with that wasp nest.

I was so scared waiting for Candace to walk back over to our group with her bro. He came over like he was dog-walking an invisible pack of rabidly-hungry pitbulls he'd tease for a while before releasing them on me when I least expected it. Possibly even going so far as to assure me that he won't be releasing the dogs on me--they're just there to keep him company--and I let my guard down. Because I'm an idiot, and gullible, and for some reason I always trust people to not let their dogs get away from them. I should stop doing this, especially with those fucking idiots who have those super-huge dogs for no reason. Like, what are you trying to prove? How heavy a turd you can fucking pick up? *that gif of Steve McQueen fake clapping at the Oscars*

Zander or Yuri or Amadeus also walked over with a sort of too-confident, lowkey embarrassing swagger. The kind baseball niggas have. Like, why do you have a juicy booty, and why are you chewing gum in that way? Tyler or Vincent or Kirk Cameron didn't have a juicy baseball booty, and he wasn't chewing gum - it was just the misplaced confident attitude of a baseballer he possessed. Possibly he played baseball, PAL or some shit. But also I just think it was because he was white, and in fifth grade. His demeanor cemented Candace's claim that she could get things done. Her brother obviously could do something, and she had power enough to get him to stop playing find-the-titty with his extremely girl-liking raging hormones haha i totally like girls friends. Toast or Bagel or Thomas' English Muffin could do something. Certainly, he could at least be the older voice in a chorus of at least Candace, claiming that I had somehow done something wrong.

It was dumb for me to be afraid. Suspended? For what? What did I really think I was going to get in trouble for? If I had said a curse word, then maybe I'd have something to worry about. But my quotation was primarily harmless, and definitely Candace and her brother repeating it back to some adult to tell on me, would result in it being further diluted from its original source material. Maybe Somebody dun told you wrong could be construed as vaguely threatening on Martin? But translated via a white on the inside black girl such as myself, and then filtered again through an actual white on the outside person, who probably put marshmallows on her sweet potatoes, would render the phrase completely innocuous. Candace might even get in trouble for improperly using ebonics. (Do you know we were given a lesson on Ebonics in the library once? Sigh @ NJ public school system). 

What did I say to Mark-Paul Gosselaar when he confronted me? I think there was a mixture of trying to assert my blackness over him, while trying to keep the scene lowkey so no adults would see. I think I doubted that Kanye Kardashian had a leg to stand on. I hadn't done anything wrong, also I was just joking. I was being a pussy, trying to backtrack a little, while at the same time trying to have an attitude. Well, it wasn't really trying - I always had an attitude. It was like the only black thing about me besides my new growth. I wanted to prove to Macklemore's Girlfriend @ The Grammy's that I wasn't afraid of him (I very much was, and my voice was probably shaking), but I also wanted to talk him out of telling. I couldn't get in trouble. Getting in trouble was the worst thing to me. Worse than getting my kitchen pressed, or when the juice supply would start to run low at cookouts.

I think what ended up happening was Gwyneth Paltrow's Hair Strands decided all Candace needed was him throwing a few ominous threats my way. He could get me suspended; his dad owned shit; his dad ran a landscaping business; he was somebody and could make moves. If I spoke to his sister like that again, he'd see to it that my black ass ended up in prison, bet. And hmm, I never looked back on that moment to see that it was because I was black, that this was happening. For the first time, even though of course my oblivious ass didn't realize it then, I was black! I was a real black! I was being unfairly discriminated against because of my race! Success!!

KFC had said the same shit, and nowhere in her tattling did Candace mention her. Never mind the fact that she purposefully went out of her way to exaggerate what I had done. That burnt ass Barbie bitch knew I was joking. I would never come out the side of my mouth unprompted to anybody, because at that time in my life, I was playing goody two shoes. I was also just legit terrified all the time of everything, so coming at a girl, especially at a new fucking school where barely anyone liked me, was just not fucking something I was going to do. Clapping back and snapping at hoes didn't come 'til at least middle school, where I still had no proper black friends, but I was in Honors classes, bitch - see me!!

I did get some non-white friends later on in the third grade game. A sort of dopey chick (she was black, tho!), and a Dominican girl who kind of looked like me and was ~black like me~, too. In that she very fucking much was not okay she's Dominican okay. I think KFC moved in the middle of the year. (Her mother got out of meth rehab or some white trash equivalent.) Which is probably what opened the door for me to make more acceptable friends. Though I never talked about Martin with them. Dominican Republic only watched telenovelas, and I don't think the dopey one even had a TV sigh.

I don't remember Candace after this incident, though I'm almost certain I tried to maintain a ~friendly acquaintanceship~ with her. I always did stuff like this after I got in trouble, or there was a threat of it. It was like at home when my mom bitched at me about some shit, then hours later I'd be trying to cozy up, let's just go back to normal okaaaay. So, I'm sure I tried to keep it cute and fake, smiling at Candace and asking about her shitty, dry ass packed lunches. But we were no longer actively pretending to be friends. Your brother threatened to throw my black ass in prison, like this nigga is fuckin' Lieutenant KKK or some shit. We can't go back to pretending to like each other when clearly you think you're superior to me because I'm black, when we both know you were just hating and being a jealous-ass because you've never seen Martin. Your white ass parents probably only let you watch Full House, and maybe, Hangin' with Mr. Cooper.

Tragic.

White parents: let your children watch black people shit, or else they'll grow up to be haters. And, no, nothing on Disney. Uncle Tom's Cabin Kidz Bop version is not the move.

Karate USA

Karate USA was located in a strip mall, sandwiched between a BabiesRUs and T. G. I. Fridays. Or maybe it was a ToysRUs and a Chili's. I don't remember why the fuck I ended up deciding to do karate. I always wanted to do ballet for some reason, even though I've never once in my life possessed an ounce of poise or grace, but okay, sure. Like, ballerinas were pretty, and I wanted to be a beautiful twirling thing. I wasn't in a wheelchair up to my neck like Christopher Reeve, so that meant I was eligible. There's absolutely no logic behind that reasoning, but thinking like that is how I've survived on Earth for so long. Total delusion, and being in complete denial 100% of the time, are really good about protecting you from the daily lye toss in the eye some would refer to as REALITY.

Not sure how my super-serious dreams of having one of Barbie's several-thousand careers turned into me owning a pair of actual fucking nunchucks. There's no way karate was my idea. Like, I was only into The Karate Kid because Daniel-san was really hot (shout out to Ralph Macchio still doin' it big!!). Like, he was all tan and sweaty and shit with that headband. Zero concerns for the actual karate-doing scenes in that movie - make Danny Boy wax that car more! Likely, it was my dad's idea to sign me up for fucking tae kwan doe. He probably thought I was weak and prone to get my ass kicked, which I was. What he didn't know was that I was way more of a pussy than he could ever imagine, often crying my way out of confrontations, or simply, physically, actually, with my legs and feet and stuff, running away. Also, I was maybe too weird to beat up? I wore a jean jacket every single day in seventh grade that I sprayed with Febreze instead of washing. I was an Untouchable. I didn't need karate, my not at all masked by Febreze musty ass jean jacket protected me from people wanting to get too close, lest they get a suspicious whiff of belly button mixed with Murray's hair grease - my guardian angel!

I never spoke to my random collection of middle school friends about karate - it was like I occupied two completely different worlds. My reason for hardly ever speaking of my karate life stemmed partly from the fact that I was in no way interested in doing it, and also that I hated everyone there :)

At first, I had two friends at karate: Brian, some gallon-headed Latino sort, and Jerry, possibly the whitest person I have ever fucking met in my entire, unfortunately very Caucasians-littered existence. Jerry was like that scene in Napoleon Dynamite when they're at the farm and for lunch there's like mayonnaise sandwiches and eggs and yellow milk or something and that unintelligible old dude with like a fly on his head bites into a boiled egg and there are, like...sounds. That whole scene was Jerry.

I had a propensity in my younger years for having friends I absolutely did not care for at all, in any way, whatsoever. I think maybe a lot of...people are like this when they're young? Like if someone sits next to you on the first day of third grade and doesn't actively spit in your face: best friends!! Though, I'm not sure how cute it is to still be doing this in your ~*~middle school years~*~. Like, did I learn nothing from my toxic frenemyships in elementary??

No.

Jerry and I were always the first to arrive to class - like the fucking geek-ass, karate-taking losers we were. Every day before class, we had to line up outside the mat area before we could enter ~the dojo~. Jerry and I always stood together up front, so I spent a lot of time staring at her yellow milk teeth, listening to her fucking bullshit about having a blind boyfriend. Like, of course you have a blind boyfriend, Jerry! Of course you fucking do!

Jerry had these really wet-looking blonde hair strings that she always pulled back into some limp, damp-looking ponytail. Why was her hair wet before class? It's probably some white people thing - like, it's just what they do. However, I'll only ever think of wet hair as being a Jerry thing. Jerry wore glasses and had sort of that Pillsbury dough body. Maybe she looked cute outside of her karate uniform (I never called it anything but a karate uniform, though I'm certain there was a proper, more dumber name). Maybe Jerry wore Apple Bottoms at her super-white school in probably Cranford or Freehold or some shit. I'm sure that plump frame squeezed into a pair of urban jeans from Against All Odds looked pretty...phat. Though, I felt sad her blind fucking boyfriend would never get to see that phat a$$ in a pair of South Pole bootcuts, but...I'm sure--hoping--he had hands. And now I'll stop talking in this manner about a thirteen year old girl's potentially juicy booty.

Brian had a huge head and looked like teen wolf. We exchanged aim screennames and instant messaged each other, and? I think? flirted?? Gross. Also he'd always tell me about how he was on the other line, instant messaging with Jerry. Brian was trying to be the ~player~ of Karate USA, but I wasn't even into him - I was pity flirting. I felt bad he could prob never buy some shit from Lids with that big ass, piñata-sized dome. He'd never have street cred, no matter how many fucking Karate USA belts he acquired.

I didn't like either of them, they were just there. Brian was bossy, obnoxious, and way too condescending for likely a first-generation American, you know what I mean?? I couldn't deal with the attitude. Like, who are you talking to? You think you're better than me because you're advancing more quickly? Because they're letting you teach classes now and stuff?? Fuck you! I have a social life - shit! to! do! I mean, I'm talking about my online zine that only had six subscribers and kept me really busy for some reason, but...six subscribers!!!   

Jerry was another beast. She was a certain type of Honors class obnoxious that I wish I was less lightskinned in the brain enough to...articulate properly. She wasn't smart, though. It was all hubris with nothing to back it up. She was also very North Jersey, by way of South Jersey. Also, her skin was the color of semen mixed into a tepid glass of water that's just been sitting out. The most important horrible thing about Jerry, though, was that she was an endless fucking talker. And sittin' up here with, frankly, musty ass breath. Absolutely not!! Pick one: be super obnoxious and never shut the fuck up, or have nasty, stank ass breath? loljk, pick none! Pick none, bitch!! Come on with the icebreakers gum and not orange flavored tic-tacs, baby girl. Of course I never said anything, just allowing rancid hummus fumes to be wafting all up in my nose while some Macaulay Culkin-colored bitch droned on and on about how having a blind boyfriend was great because he couldn't see her face and what she looked like. BUT HE CAN SMELL, SURELY?!

My ~friendship~ with Brian fell off very quickly, as he was a few belts ahead of me, and taylor swiftly kiss-assing his way up the Karate USA ladder. Brian clocked me pretty quickly as lazy (black), and unambitious (black, lightskinned), noting that association with the sluggish maybe black, but definitely not white bitch, would do nothing to serve his future career as some nigga yelling at kids to kick higher! get that leg up, Briana! in possibly the tiniest storefront masquerading as a karate dojo that--Has this ever been a thing??

My relationship with Jerry faded out at a much slower rate than with Brian. Jerry was sort of lazy, too, so we stayed at the same belt level for a while, until suddenly she was changing class schedule and advancing a belt above me, much to my wholly sarcastic chagrin.

I didn't really have any more relationships at the school beyond those two initial ones, besides some young Filipino brothers who came to the school sometime around when I got my greenbelt. They were ~cool~, ~make friends with everyone~~ types, and so my blawkward (you tried), anti-social ass accidentally got swept up into their