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Maybe she didn’t have a child out of wedlock but her grandma did.
Maybe she hadn’t given birth to a child with an absentee father, but she knew plenty who did.
Her cousin was a gangster.
Her uncle had spent time in jail for rape in the 50’s.
Her father was fortunate enough to have gotten a scholarship to university, but most of her other relatives hadn’t and were struggling every week to make ends meet. They lived in poverty and gave birth to more children so they were stuck in it.
The stereotypes she hated were a common part of her immediate history.
Did the Zhangs have solid grounds to stand on?
Feeling restless and sorry for herself, Ashanti ran to the one person she always did when things got confusing.
Her dad.
He answered on the second ring. His deep voice rumbled over her, swaddling her in a cocoon of familiarity and love. “Hello, honey.”
“Dad…”
“Ashanti.” He immediately grew serious. “Are you crying?”
“Of course not. I just… stubbed my toe.”
He took a few seconds before answering. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing much.”
“What were you doing before you called?”
“Reading.” She got an idea and added, “In the story, the black heroine just visited her friend’s Chi—I mean Indian parents. They thought the girl was dating their son and said some nasty things that made her cry…”
“Honey, don’t read those types of books if they upset you that much.”
“It’s not the book, Dad. I told you. I hurt my little toe.”
“If you say so,” he rumbled. “Now what’s the problem?”
“Nothing.” She wiped her nose, feeling stronger just by hearing her father’s voice. “Everything is fine.”
“Okay…” he drew the word out so she knew he didn’t believe her. “Either stop reading or hurry and skip to the end when the black girl and the Indian guy get together.”
Ashanti gawked. “They’re not going to have that kind of ending. They’re just friends.”
“If they’re just friends, why is the girl acting heartbroken over what his parents said?”
“She’s not heartbroken per say…”
“If there were no feelings there, she shouldn’t care.”
“She doesn’t. She’s offended on behalf of all black people.”
“You said she was crying. If she wasn’t emotionally involved with the young man, wouldn’t it make sense for her to just shake their words and keep it moving? Why would she cry?”
Ashanti wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Well…”
“But what do I know? I’m not an author, right?”
