Dear White People: Holding your arm or leg up next to mine and triumphantly stating that, “I’m darker than you!” is not amusing.

In fact, those are fightin’ words.

Why? Because when you proudly make this declaration and perform this action, what you are really implying, whether you intend to or not and whether you know it or not, is that: I’m white and I have white skin that is darker than yours but I’m shielded from racism from white people, and I won’t be pulled over by police for DWB (driving while black) or looking black with my white skin that’s darker than yours, and I’ll never be refused service because of my white skin that’s darker than yours, and I’ll never be called a nigger because of my white skin that’s darker than yours. I could go on and on.

I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me throughout my life. Friends, co-workers and strangers alike have all committed this offense. It creates a rage inside of me that I often have to suppress because I can’t go all Sister Soulja at the cash register in Lowes Foods as the (grown) woman bagging my groceries said this to me after the cashier asked me what race I was. And I can’t get all Malcolm X militant when a co-worker says this to me (everywhere I’ve been employed to date) as other (white) co-workers erupt in laughter while I silently seethe in anger.

Looking the way I do means you are subject to a plethora of disparaging words, judgments and criticisms on a regular basis – whether you invite them or not. My skin has thickened over the years, almost to a Teflon state. And my tongue and mind are quick and on constant standby, ready to defend at a moment’s notice. Still, I’m learning as I get older that taking the high road means practicing grace under fire and turning the other cheek. I’m learning.

It started on the playground at St. Leo Catholic School and continued at Bishop McGuinness Catholic High School and in college at Appalachian State University and UNC Charlotte, where I earned my degree, and every job I’ve had from Charlotte to Winston-Salem.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but names (and comments) hurt me.