Hands Up For White History Month #BHM #Diversity #BeadsOnaString

I recently read about someone wishing there was a White History Month and then wondering if that was being racist. Obviously they missed the purpose of BHM and such in their history classes. Oh, wait- next to nothing about Black history (or any history of color) is taught on the daily in the schools. That's the reason Negro Week was established, to have a race of people, who were previously ignored-celebrated. This is a hard concept to understand when you are prized and never face any form of discrimination. Think of it as being the favorite child, even if you are poor as dirt, sitting beside a person of color, equally as dirt poor-you would get the scrap before they did. Just a fact of American life.
No, having a White History month wouldn't be "racist", it would be redundant. At least in my eyes and yet, I feel for him. BHM, to other races could seem to be a slap in the face, but that's how the daily teaching of American history seems to and any other person of color. It would be the fulfilment of the dreams of many if life was different and the recognition of all was a daily thing, but until then...we have weeks and /or a month in which to be acknowledged.
Following is a link to the full post concerning my feelings about Black History Month.

PULLING SCABS, SEEING BLACKFACE, MOVING AWAY FROM 28 DAYS.

. My feelings of Black History Month is to compare it to a scab over a deep wound. The wound sits, healing and scabbing over for ten months, then comes January and Martin Luther King celebrations, the scab is picked at until its sore and parts of the wound is exposed. In February the scab is completely pulled off and the wound is open, and vulnerable for all to see and attack. Fiddled with, poked at until it is raw and bleeding. Everyone sees it, everyone feels the pain and yet no one can do anything to heal the wound or extinguish the burn from the tears and neglect. The reopening hurts more than the first cut because now more people are involved in the poking, pulling and exposing. The tiny cut has become a crater. At the end of February, it is left alone. The ohhs and ahhs are over and the wound is left to either fester and infect the souls of some or crust over and try to heal itself...until the next year.

 
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