It's sad that we even have to have these sorts of reminders.
From the piece:
Having returned their team to relevance for the first time since the Clinton era, RG3, as he is known, can do no wrong in the eyes of Slurs fans. But Parker, saying that the young man’s fiancee is (gasp!) white and that he himself is rumored to be — cover the children’s ears — a Republican, found him lacking in the area of authentic blackness. “My question,” he said, “which is just a straight, honest question: is he a brother, or is he a cornball brother? He’s not really ... OK, he’s black, he kind of does the thing, but he’s not really down with the cause. He’s not one of us. He’s kind of black, but he’s not really like the guy you really want to hang out with...”
That explosion you hear is the sound of my mind, blown. I’m left second-guessing my own blackness.
I mean, I listen to Bruce Springsteen, for crying out loud! There’s even a Dixie Chicks album on my iPod. Should I download more James Brown and Al Green to save my, ahem, soul?
And I read books sometimes, man — even when no one’s making me do it. Some of them are thick as bricks. Some aren’t even about African-American themes.
It gets worse.