Mad Brad: The blackest guy you know

One cannot ignore the prominence of "Black History Month" festivities in February. This month pays homage to epic revolutionaries and artists alike who made great strides in their prospective fields for persons of color.

And with all respect on the table, if it wasn't for the sacrifices of several individuals I would not have the opportunity to write these words. In fact, at one point in history, I wouldn't have been able to read them myself.

However, I feel that in order to really make progress in race relations, a month of events is unnecessary. Anything worth celebrating should be given honor everyday, just as the accomplishments of King, X and others hold the same power in September.

I'm considered to be a "black" person, (more on the caramel-ish side), and when I think about culture, race, ethnicity, nationality and my "blackness," I'm overwhelmed with the fragility that perceptions are based on.

Skin tone is subject to the mixing of DNA's, and how long we spend at the beach in a sweltering summer day. People who reside in the "Dark Continent" of Africa live under the concentration of the equator. Their skin is pretty black. When I was in London, (located north of Africa for you geographers) it was a different story. They were not so black.

However, a person of darker skin tone who's born in the U.K. is no less British than a fair skinned comparative. They speak "correct" English and drive on the wrong side of the road just like the other red coats.

This is no great venture into science or sociology, but a practical observation. We are products of our environments, and our experience makes us who we are. I'm not less "black" because I play guitar, neither am I some genetic wonder.

I can play guitar because I took lessons, taught myself and at one point in my life practiced seven hours a day.

But, despite these facts, something as simple as this still shocks people.

It's necessary to take the status quo of commonalities into consideration. Certain music, foods, languages, etc. are prevalent in racial circles. I've never heard many Caucasians talk about eating pig feet or collard greens, but it's not because they wouldn't think they're delicious. It's because they weren't in an environment where these foods were prevalent.

Everyone is guilty.

I've known white guys who enjoy rap music and date black girls to be called "wiggers." Which when expounded upon equals "White Nigger." Their critics say they're trying to "black," but often I don't think that's the case. If all they knew was hip-hop and an urban lifestyle, then they're not trying to be "black." Black is trying to be them.

My dad would be considered a dark black male, and my mom commonly known as a "Yellow Bone," because of her light pigment. I was happy to find out that she has a lot of Spanish in her bloodline and that I indeed may be a quarter Latino.

But if the mixing of DNA is nil, and stereotypes prevail over knowledge, then I'm fine with being "black." I play guitar and study Spanish, I love coffee, and devour Potato Shack; my favorite black music artist is a dark as night Brazilian named Seu Jorge, and my mom makes a heaven of a sweet potato pie.

I'm the blackest guy you know.