“I am not who you think I am; I am not who I think I am; I am who I think you think I am.”

-Thomas Cooley

The complexity of survival is as murky and messy as the intricacy of living.  Because of social constructivism, it is more challenging to gain or grasp an understanding of “who” we are and even more so, how are we to do it.  We’ve been habituated to believe that our individualism robs us of similarities, not realizing these similarities are what unites us as humans.  Crippling to our interactions has lain the need to disclose in secrecy our experiences that we commonly and openly share. It is quite disturbing to both witness and experiences the psychological conditioning that has programmed us to synthesize our commonalities as unique and irregular to the individual. In the grand scheme of things, there seems to be an overshadowing of “don’t tell your business” philosophy that has created a distancing between communities, that has even trickled into modern family units.   Sadly, this credence has become an unspoken tenet of the American psyche, more specifically, in African American subculture.     What’s interesting is the continuation of a great deal of energy that is served in fortifying these behaviors versus unveiling the “why must we continue in the fashion” proponent.

By no means, do I claim to be a historian or sociologist; therefore, the intent of this writing is not to “educate” but to bring awareness through personal observation the ethos that seems to be a mainstream issue, better yet, condition.  Many believe that the present ideology of the African American experience and culture is a direct response to slavery, institutional racism, and systematic discrimination.  I must say, I largely agree because I understand that though we live in a post-slavery era, the damaging ideals, even through hopeful wishing, did not dissolve with the abolishment of slavery.  Of course, there can be an argument of the various nuances that bleed into solitary instances, but my desire is not to go that in depth.   From a macro level, it is easy to discern how Thomas Cooley’s saying is realized and proved true.

 See, as an African American male, “I am not who you think I am.”  Each day, I must contend with the negative and positive effects of social constructs.  Unfortunately, there are many false narratives that have distorted the image of being “black” in America that I am forced to either eradicate or redefine; such as uneducated, overly attitudinal, or aggressive.   Not to mention, the constant of fear police brutality or unwarranted death. Equally, I recognize the luxury and burden of being an African American male. Consequently, due to pervasive misogynism, there is the presence of “male privilege.”  Though there is a stigma that considers African American males the “lesser” male, he is still a male and receives the benefit of being one, along with adhering to a forced definition of a “man.”  Therefore, I recognize that I may receive employment or financial opportunities solely based on my gender; whereas, my female counterparts may experience opposition based on theirs. With the impact of slavery, various discrimination, and misogyny, quite the conundrum for African Americans have been created where, regrettably, African American women endure the greatest plight.  To avoid discussing the overly saturated popular topics, I would like to discuss those patterns that go unnoticed or is often compounded with a more prominent issue. 

 As a man, son, father, husband, uncle, cousin, friend, and citizen, “I am not who I think I am.”  Recently, through an intimate dialogue with some male friends, I discovered how social constructs played a crucial role in who I thought I was.   Since my early twenties, I have always considered myself a free-thinker; and prided myself in denouncing negative isms. I mean, I would state that I was womanist and I had no clue how deeply rooted misogynistic views were within.    Unfortunately, there were some areas left unturned; so, technically, there was no denouncing because of my skewed perception and conditional way of thinking.    Honestly, in hindsight, I didn’t bother to remove them because either I enjoyed them or reaped some type of benefit from them.  Upon my discovery, I was saddened to realize that I struggled with absenteeism. Let me be clear, this has very little do with physicality.  This has more to do with mental, spiritual, and emotional availability. I am sure that personal trauma plays a factor but as for me and the discussed experiences shared by others, the root of absenteeism seems to stem from the identified-framework of being a male. Though active in my family’s life, there was an unspoken limitation to my engagement.  Certain discussion, I subconsciously evaded if they were too lengthy or required emotion and extensive details. I know we’ve all heard the “I am not having this discussion” comment.  It wasn’t that the conversation was even problematic, it was that I ascribed a gender to the topic and assumed that would equate to certain emotions that I have been conditioned to detach or become desensitized. Isn’t that misogyny at its finest? Ok, Ok, and a little ignorance. Either way, I am aware now.      

I built much of my identity on the premise, “I am who I think you think I am”.  I allowed social constructs to influence what I should or shouldn’t do and should and shouldn’t be.   It’s funny when one begins to think of the complexity that lies within the selfish intent of rebellion.  If we are not strategic in the dismantling of social constructs, much of our rebellion will be influenced by the benefit of self versus the betterment of others. We must end the “chameleon complex” of “faking it ‘til we make it.”  See, I understand that this was also a survival technique for many African American males.  However, one can’t help to think, what is “making it” and when will we reach it?  Dejectedly, we have only been taught to “fake it” because to “make it” is so convoluted. And this is what it means to be a male and whether present or not, we pass this damaging psyche on from son to son as a safeguarded family heirloom, blanketed in toxic and hypersensitive masculinity, subscripted as “a man.”   Trapped and constrained by this depleting construct, many males must put those they love through the emotionally draining ropes course, just to develop the courage to express the discontentment of being imprisoned by the confines of the definition and persona of what it means to be a man, an African American man.   These are the lessons our fathers taught us and yet, we still wonder: Daddy, where are you?