Personal Narrative: I Hate Oreos

I hate Oreos. “Milk’s favorite cookie”? Yeah, right. Do not get me wrong who can resist a Snickers or a slice of cherry pie, I love sweets, but I would pass on a whole box of Oreos for these any day. Being called this sweet name with such a vicious meaning behind it ruined this sugary treat for me. According to my friends I have a severe problem with not being “black” enough, and they claim my numerous track accolades are the only “black” thing about me. I have always been proud of my Caribbean heritage, my parents instilled in me from day one to never shy away from my Jamaican and St. Maarten upbringing, but growing up in white suburbia has made it difficult. Throughout most of my grade school career I have been one of approximately 5 black kids in my grade, and in high school I have been one
Oreo was the name I wore for most of my adolescence, a black girl who acted “too white”. I was stuck in racial limbo. I grew up without an understanding of how to be me. Trying distance myself from the Oreo stereotype was more important to me than being Chloe. Arriving in a state where I could accept my identity instead of denying it took a lot of self-discovery, most of which came from my Nana visiting me from St.Maarten in 11th grade. It was the first time I had seen her in 6 years, and the first time she was seeing me as a young adult. When we embraced at Dulles Airport the warmth and scent of her hug carried me home. She shared stories with me that night, and in her thick French Guadeloupian accent told me about her childhood. She mentioned how she was teased for being fairer skinned than her family and friends. Similarly, she donned the name “Café au lait”, which is French for coffee with milk, again a sweet beverage used in a harmful manner. My Nana wore the darkest makeup to seem similar complexion to everyone else; although, a more literal façade we had gone through similar