Jaime Mathis and The Words

I live and grew up in a state that was created specifically for White Americans Only. In grade school, there were exactly three people of color between the ages on 6-14. One was Mexican, one Pakistani and one was black American. Except for the Mexican boy, Charlie, I thought Tiana and Monica were fascinating and had a monopoly on dancing and coolness. I went to them, unconsciously wanting to understand Something I could not define and we spent hours under the church porch talking about boys and practicing dance moves. In the midst of these sessions I carried a sense of longing within me. It was a slight tingling that ached in my chest and sent butterflies racing through my stomach. There was something they had that I would never understand, never be a part of no matter how much rap I listened to or how carefully I studied the way they spoke. It was an invisible barrier that I could not name, much less describe. Occasionally I would wonder why there were not more people of color i

Many of you who know me are aware that I had cancer as a child. Many of you who know me may not be. It was one of the defining moments of my life. I was 8 years old. Ironically, getting cancer was the scariest thing I could have imagined. I remember thinking mere months before the first lump appeared, “I hope I never get cancer. That would be the WORST thing that could ever happen. I would probably die.” And then it did. On Christmas, my most favorite of holidays. And at my grandparents' house in Angwin, one of my most favorite places. I would not call myself the most courageous child. Intense, yes. Brave…I was prone to bursting into tears at the mere mention of a doctor visit way before cancer appeared on scene. And yet. There stood the truth, in all its wretched, terrifying reality, demanding my answer. What’s it gonna be, kid? Shrivel up inside your fear? Kick the bucket? Or Fight. I had no idea what my answer was until I found myself lying in bed at Sta