COMMENTARY
THE URBAN
BLACK MAN AT A
WHITE MAN'S PARTY
Why do white people embrace black men only when they
provide them with entertainment, but look
right through us any other time?
As a black male coming to Penn State from the
“hood”, I rarely interacted with white people and
I certainly never attended their parties. In fact,
most white people just pass me right by without
making any eye contact or simply cross the
street when they see me. Because of this harsh
reality, I couldn’t even fathom being admitted
into a white party with my complexion and
build.
Well, at this point in my Penn State career, I
have finessed my way into quite a few white
parties here and this is how it usually tends to
go for me with some occasional variation:
I walk in with only about one or two other black
friends (any more black people and you begin
to upset the balance) and immediately we get a
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couple of dead stares. I proceed to Harlem
shake off the stares and then I ask myself
“The f*ck kind of music they playing?” I try to
force my body to flow to the strange tunes
and ultimately I realize that it just isn’t going
to happen without a drink. So my friends and
I maneuver through the crowd in search of
cups and whatever alcohol is available (it’s
always Vlad. Always).
As soon as we find the Vlad and get a few
shots in us, we head to the dance area. On
the way, we pass a few other brothers chilling
in the cut who also look uncomfortable and
out of place. I shoot them a quick nod of
solidarity (as only another black man can) just
to let them know that I understand their pain.