02/08/2025
Iâve never said I was Black.
Iâve never tried to be something Iâm not.
But I was raised in a Black family, loved by Black people, and shaped by a culture that wrapped around me like protection.
I didnât borrow it.
I lived it.
Church on Sundays (I grew up Baptist and not every Sunday). BBQs in the backyard.
All the kids crammed in one room while the grown folks played spades or dominos, R&B flowing through the speakers like it was part of the house.
My Aunts and Uncles drinking Olde English, the smell of it seeping through my stepdadâs pores when it was finally time to go home, way after midnight.
Me peeking through the vent, making sure my mom and dad didnât leave my ass behind while my cousins picked on me.
I didnât just see it, I was raised in it, checked by it, claimed by it without question.
Iâve never tried to take from the culture.
I carry it with respect.
Because I know the history.
I honor the struggle.
And I never forget who poured into me when they didnât have to.
So when you say:
âShe wanna be Black so bad,â or call me a âCulture Vulture.â
youâre not seeing me.
Youâre projecting your pain onto a story you never asked me to tell.
And thatâs okay.
You donât have to understand me.
But you will respect that I am not a trend.
I am not a costume.
I am a woman who was raised in love by a people who didnât have to claim me, but did.
And for that, Iâll always be grateful.
I donât need to âbe Blackâ to love and protect what raised me.
And I donât need your permission to tell my story.
This is me.
This is mine.
This is truth.
This is my culture.
Brittany Lockridge
