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I AM COLORED but I offer nothing in the way of extenuating circumstances except the fact that I am the only Negro in the United States whose grandfather on the mother’s side was not an Indian chief.
I AM COLORED but I offer nothing in the way of extenuating circumstances except the fact that I am the only Negro in the United States whose grandfather on the mother’s side was not an Indian chief.2
1
I remember the very day that I became colored. Up to my thirteenth year I lived in the little Negro town of Eatonville, Florida. It is exclusively a colored town. The only white people I knew passed through the town going to or coming from Orlando. The native whites rode dusty horses, the Northern tourists chugged down the sandy village road in automobiles. The town knew the Southerners and never stopped cane chewing when they passed. But the Northerners were something else again. They were peered at cautiously from behind curtains by the timid. The more venturesome would come out on the porch to watch them go past and got just as much pleasure out of the tourists as the tourists got out of the village.
1
I remember the very day that I became colored. Up to my thirteenth year I lived in the little Negro town of Eatonville, Florida. It is exclusively a colored town. The only white people I knew passed through the town going to or coming from Orlando. The native whites rode dusty horses, the Northern tourists chugged down the sandy village road in automobiles. The town knew the Southerners and never stopped cane chewing when they passed. But the Northerners were something else again. They were peered at cautiously from behind curtains by the timid. The more venturesome would come out on the porch to watch them go past and got just as much pleasure out of the tourists as the tourists got out of the village.3
2
The front porch might seem a daring place for the rest of the town, but it was a gallery seat for me. My favorite place was atop the gate?post. Proscenium box for a born first?nighter. Not only did I enjoy the show, but I didn’t mind the actors knowing that I liked it. I usually spoke to them in passing. I’d wave at them and when they returned my salute, I would say something like this: “Howdy?do?well?I?thank?you?where?yougoin’?” Usually automobile or the horse paused at this, and after a queer exchange of compliments, I would probably “go a piece of the way” with them, as we say in farthest Florida. If one of my family happened to come to the front in time to see me, of course negotiations would be rudely broken off. But even so, it is clear that I was the first “welcome?to?ourstate” Floridian, and I hope the Miami Chamber of Commerce will please take notice.
2
The front porch might seem a daring place for the rest of the town, but it was a gallery seat for me. My favorite place was atop the gate?post. Proscenium box for a born first?nighter. Not only did I enjoy the show, but I didn’t mind the actors knowing that I liked it. I usually spoke to them in passing. I’d wave at them and when they returned my salute, I would say something like this: “Howdy?do?well?I?thank?you?where?yougoin’?” Usually automobile or the horse paused at this, and after a queer exchange of compliments, I would probably “go a piece of the way” with them, as we say in farthest Florida. If one of my family happened to come to the front in time to see me, of course negotiations would be rudely broken off. But even so, it is clear that I was the first “welcome?to?ourstate” Floridian, and I hope the Miami Chamber of Commerce will please take notice.4
1
During this period, white people differed from colored to me only in that they rode through town and never lived there. They liked to hear me I I speak pieces” and sing and wanted to see me dance the parse?me?la, and gave me generously of their small silver for doing these things, which seemed strange to me for I wanted to do them so much that I needed bribing to stop, only they didn’t know it. The colored people gave no dimes. They deplored any joyful tendencies in me, but I was their Zora nevertheless. I belonged to them, to the nearby hotels, to the county?everybody’s Zora.
1
During this period, white people differed from colored to me only in that they rode through town and never lived there. They liked to hear me I I speak pieces” and sing and wanted to see me dance the parse?me?la, and gave me generously of their small silver for doing these things, which seemed strange to me for I wanted to do them so much that I needed bribing to stop, only they didn’t know it. The colored people gave no dimes. They deplored any joyful tendencies in me, but I was their Zora nevertheless. I belonged to them, to the nearby hotels, to the county?everybody’s Zora.5
1
But changes came in the family when I was thirteen, and I was sent to school in Jacksonville. I left Eatonville, the town of the oleanders, a Zora. When I disembarked from the river?boat at Jacksonville, she was no more. It seemed that I had suffered a sea change. I was not Zora of Orange County any more, I was now a little colored girl. I found it out in certain ways. In my heart as well as in the mirror, I became a fast brownwarranted not to rub nor run.
1
But changes came in the family when I was thirteen, and I was sent to school in Jacksonville. I left Eatonville, the town of the oleanders, a Zora. When I disembarked from the river?boat at Jacksonville, she was no more. It seemed that I had suffered a sea change. I was not Zora of Orange County any more, I was now a little colored girl. I found it out in certain ways. In my heart as well as in the mirror, I became a fast brownwarranted not to rub nor run.6
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BUT I AM NOT tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all. I do not be long to the sobbing school of Negrohood who hold that nature somehow has given them a lowdown dirty deal and whose feelings are all but about it. Even in the helter?skelter skirmish that is my life, I have seer that the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation more of less. No, I do not weep at the world??I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.
5
BUT I AM NOT tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all. I do not be long to the sobbing school of Negrohood who hold that nature somehow has given them a lowdown dirty deal and whose feelings are all but about it. Even in the helter?skelter skirmish that is my life, I have seer that the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation more of less. No, I do not weep at the world??I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.7
5
Someone is always at my elbow reminding me that I am the grand daughter of slaves. It fails to register depression with me. Slavery is sixty years in the past. The operation was successful and the patient is doing well, thank you. The terrible struggle that made me an American out of a potential slave said “On the line! ” The Reconstruction said “Get set! ” and the generation before said “Go! ” I am off to a flying start and I must not halt in the stretch to look behind and weep. Slavery is the price I paid for civilization, and the choice was not with me. It is a bully adventure and worthi.all that 1 have paid through my ancestors for it. No one on earth ever had a greater chance for glory. The world to be won and nothing to be lost. It is thrilling to think?to know that for any act of mine, I shall get twice as much praise or twice as much blame. It is quite exciting to hold the center of the national stage, with the spectators not knowing whether to laugh or to weep.
5
Someone is always at my elbow reminding me that I am the grand daughter of slaves. It fails to register depression with me. Slavery is sixty years in the past. The operation was successful and the patient is doing well, thank you. The terrible struggle that made me an American out of a potential slave said “On the line! ” The Reconstruction said “Get set! ” and the generation before said “Go! ” I am off to a flying start and I must not halt in the stretch to look behind and weep. Slavery is the price I paid for civilization, and the choice was not with me. It is a bully adventure and worthi.all that 1 have paid through my ancestors for it. No one on earth ever had a greater chance for glory. The world to be won and nothing to be lost. It is thrilling to think?to know that for any act of mine, I shall get twice as much praise or twice as much blame. It is quite exciting to hold the center of the national stage, with the spectators not knowing whether to laugh or to weep.8
The position of my white neighbor is much more difficult. No brown specter pulls up a chair beside me when I sit down to eat. No dark ghost thrusts its leg against mine in bed. The game of keeping what one has is never so exciting as the game of getting.
The position of my white neighbor is much more difficult. No brown specter pulls up a chair beside me when I sit down to eat. No dark ghost thrusts its leg against mine in bed. The game of keeping what one has is never so exciting as the game of getting.9
I do not always feel colored. Even now ? I often achieve the unconscious Zora of Eatonville before the Hegira. I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.
I do not always feel colored. Even now ? I often achieve the unconscious Zora of Eatonville before the Hegira. I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.10
For instance at Barnard. “Beside the waters of the Hudson” I feel my race. Among the thousand white persons, I am a dark rock surged upon, and overswept, but through it all, I remain myself. When covered by the waters, I am; and the ebb but reveals me again.
For instance at Barnard. “Beside the waters of the Hudson” I feel my race. Among the thousand white persons, I am a dark rock surged upon, and overswept, but through it all, I remain myself. When covered by the waters, I am; and the ebb but reveals me again.11
SOMETIMES IT IS the other way around. A white person is set down in our midst, but the contrast is just as sharp for me. For instance, when I sit in the drafty basement that is The New World Cabaret with a white person, my color comes. We enter chatting about any little nothing that we have in common and are seated by the jazz waiters. In the abrupt way that jazz orchestras have, this one plunges into a number. It loses no time in circumlocutions, but gets right down to business. It constricts the thorax and splits the heart with its tempo and narcotic harmonies. This orchestra grows rambunctious, rears on its hind legs and attacks the tonal veil with primitive fury, rending it, clawing it until it breaks through to the jungle beyond. I follow those heathen?follow them exultingly. I dance wildly inside myself; I yell within, I whoop; I shake my assegai above my head, I hurl it true to the mark yeeeeooww! I am in the jungle and living in the jungle way. My face is painted red and yellow and my body is painted blue, My pulse is throbbing like a war drum. I want to slaughter something?give pain, give death to what, I do not know. But the piece ends. The men of the orchestra wipe their lips and rest their fingers. I creep back slowly to the veneer we call civilization with the last tone and find the white friend sitting motionless in his seat, smoking calmly.
SOMETIMES IT IS the other way around. A white person is set down in our midst, but the contrast is just as sharp for me. For instance, when I sit in the drafty basement that is The New World Cabaret with a white person, my color comes. We enter chatting about any little nothing that we have in common and are seated by the jazz waiters. In the abrupt way that jazz orchestras have, this one plunges into a number. It loses no time in circumlocutions, but gets right down to business. It constricts the thorax and splits the heart with its tempo and narcotic harmonies. This orchestra grows rambunctious, rears on its hind legs and attacks the tonal veil with primitive fury, rending it, clawing it until it breaks through to the jungle beyond. I follow those heathen?follow them exultingly. I dance wildly inside myself; I yell within, I whoop; I shake my assegai above my head, I hurl it true to the mark yeeeeooww! I am in the jungle and living in the jungle way. My face is painted red and yellow and my body is painted blue, My pulse is throbbing like a war drum. I want to slaughter something?give pain, give death to what, I do not know. But the piece ends. The men of the orchestra wipe their lips and rest their fingers. I creep back slowly to the veneer we call civilization with the last tone and find the white friend sitting motionless in his seat, smoking calmly.13
Music. The great blobs of purple and red emotion have not touched him. He has only heard what I felt. He is far away and I see him but dimly across the ocean and the continent that have fallen between us. He is so pale with his whiteness then and I am so colored.
Music. The great blobs of purple and red emotion have not touched him. He has only heard what I felt. He is far away and I see him but dimly across the ocean and the continent that have fallen between us. He is so pale with his whiteness then and I am so colored.14
1
AT CERTAIN TIMES I have no race, I am me. When I set my hat at a certain angle and saunter down Seventh Avenue, Harlem City, feeling as snooty as the lions in front of the Forty?Second Street Library, for instance. So far as my feelings are concerned, Peggy Hopkins Joyce on the Boule Mich with her gorgeous raiment, stately carriage, knees knocking together in a most aristocratic manner, has nothing on me. The cosmic Zora emerges. I belong to no race nor time. I am the eternal feminine with its string of beads.
1
AT CERTAIN TIMES I have no race, I am me. When I set my hat at a certain angle and saunter down Seventh Avenue, Harlem City, feeling as snooty as the lions in front of the Forty?Second Street Library, for instance. So far as my feelings are concerned, Peggy Hopkins Joyce on the Boule Mich with her gorgeous raiment, stately carriage, knees knocking together in a most aristocratic manner, has nothing on me. The cosmic Zora emerges. I belong to no race nor time. I am the eternal feminine with its string of beads.15
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I have no separate feeling about being an American citizen and colored. I am merely a fragment of the Great Soul that surges within the boundaries. My country, right or wrong.
4
I have no separate feeling about being an American citizen and colored. I am merely a fragment of the Great Soul that surges within the boundaries. My country, right or wrong.16
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Sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It’s beyond me.
6
Sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It’s beyond me.17
But in the main, I feel like a brown bag of miscellany propped against a wall. Against a wall In company with other bags, white, red and yellow. Pour out the contents, and there is discovered a jumble of small, things priceless and worthless. A first?water diamond, an empty spool bits of broken glass, lengths of string, a key to a door long since crumbled away, a rusty knife?blade, old shoes saved for a road that never was and never will be, a nail bent under the weight of things too heavy for any nail, a dried flower or two still a little fragrant. in your hand is the brown bag. On the ground before you is the jumble it held?so much like the jumble in the bags could they be emptied that all might be dumped in a single heap and the bags refilled without altering the content of any greatly. A bit of colored glass more or less would not matter. Perhaps that is how the Great Stuffer of Bags filled them in the first place? who knows?
But in the main, I feel like a brown bag of miscellany propped against a wall. Against a wall In company with other bags, white, red and yellow. Pour out the contents, and there is discovered a jumble of small, things priceless and worthless. A first?water diamond, an empty spool bits of broken glass, lengths of string, a key to a door long since crumbled away, a rusty knife?blade, old shoes saved for a road that never was and never will be, a nail bent under the weight of things too heavy for any nail, a dried flower or two still a little fragrant. in your hand is the brown bag. On the ground before you is the jumble it held?so much like the jumble in the bags could they be emptied that all might be dumped in a single heap and the bags refilled without altering the content of any greatly. A bit of colored glass more or less would not matter. Perhaps that is how the Great Stuffer of Bags filled them in the first place? who knows?
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In this stanza she is saying, yea people treat/talk bad about me but that doesn’t bother me at all because I know the person I am. And it surprise her so much as th why people woulnd’t want to be in the company as someone like herself who doesn’t has no race;or even belong to a race but just the person she truly is. But peoples actions are beyond her.
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In this passage she is simply saying that being black is no punishment at all (which I agree) and that she does not regret being born into a black family. She also states that she is not mad at anyone because of the pigmentation of her skin and that life is too short and that she’s way too busy trying to get her life where she wants it than to worry about her skin color.
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This is the paragraph that really stood out to me. We chose to talk about this for groups but were running low on time, so we didn’t really have time to go into detail.
I think this part is so strong and powerful because not only does it show her not being ashamed or depressed about slavery, but she seemed to take the positive out of the horrible situation. To me, it’s a very powerful and uplifting attitude and is a great example of how people should live their lives. Hurston was proud of her ancestors for what they did. If she had to get to where she was using any other alternative than slavery, of course she would take it, but she wasn’t given that option. She’s got that very ‘glass is half full’ attitude.
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When she states that “I remember the very day that I became colored.” It makes me wonder what she is refferring to as the ‘very day.’ The day she was born, or outcome to an event in her life that was a result of her color? “The native whites rode dusty horses” A small statement that could have such deep meaning. We discussed in class. Whites have dusty horses, they are not better than I. Even their horses have dust on them. Then the rest of the paragraph just goes to discuss how tourists were stared at. The speaker was one of these people who enjoyed watching others. It’s interesting to me how she states “got just as much pleasure out of the tourists as the tourists got out of the village” So the People who lived in Eatonville enjoyed watching the seldom whites pass by just as much as the white people enjoyed oberving the village.
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I like this paragraph because it shows how instead of being timid and watching from behind the curtain she went above and beyond to show whites didn’t bother her or make her feel any less of herself. She sat on top of the gate and actually engaged in conversation. she would break conversation if her family happened to come by which makes me curious. If she was to sit on top of the gate, making it known she was conversing with whites then why stop on account of family?
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So this paragraph I think is showing when she became ‘colored.’ At home it was normal, her neighborhood didn’t have anyone of color. But now that she is out of Orange County she became the “little colored girl.’
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I agree with Toni. Being colored, is no tragedy. There is no pain that comes along with being colored. She stands up, moves on with her life. She sees the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation. She doesn’t complain about color, she continues on.
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Nice Job Daniel. ‘You look nice today’ haha. Okay so I agree with what he said. I really like this paragraph. Yes the character has people reminding her she was the grand daughter of slaves. This did not upset her. Slavery is in the past. A choice that was made then. She will not continue to dwell on it, it’s over. She paid the price for civilization, through her ancestors. So now she is living. Choice is up to her now. I love the ending when she states “It is thrilling to think, to know that for any act of mine, I shall get twice as much praise or twice as much blame. It is quite exciting to hold the center of the national stage, with the spectators not knowing whether to laugh or weep.” I love it because it ties back into, the choice having been already made. With that aside, what she does now is either ‘for or against.’ No longer bias. The last sentence leaves me in thought. “The spectators not knowing whether to laugh or to weep” I am not too sure what this is all referring to. Does this upset people (whites) that she is realizing the choice is up to her? Or rejoicing because everyone has oppurtunity to make of themselves what they will?
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Zora never felt discriminated against in her little town, she even engaged in conversation with the white folks that came through,even when the other blacks in town felt intimidated by the whites. She shows that the best way to fight discrimination is to have a high self esteem.
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I really liked this poem in the aspect that it’s a bold statement of confidence. The poem reflects on how the girl in the poem is not mad for being colored. She just knows to live and be whatever she wants to be no matter what color her skin is. Everyone in the world should have confidence like this. It’s a beautiful thing.
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sheila Reply:
October 25th, 2009 at 7:53 pm
I agree with Cynthia – this story is about confidence – and confidence is a beautiful thing. Reading a mini autobiography from someone who was so witty, comical, and optimistic is not only refreshing but inspiring. I also like the fact that the cryptic passages were kept to a minimum. This is my favorite reading so far.
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I also agree that this is all about confidence. Confidence is a beautiful thing that many people will never have in their life, and this girl has so much of it for her age. I think that more people need to read this poem and realize how nice being confident can be.
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I love how she accepts that she is colored and unlike people of that time she does not take it as an insult or as a bad thing. She is just looking at it as if it doesn’t matter. (which it doesn’t) So i say yay for her she seems to be very confident and aware in her life to be bother by something as insignificant as the color of her skin.
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I would agree that this is about confidence and lack of punishment in being colored. Something I kept thinking about while I read through this was when a friend of mine would say, “All I have to do is be black and die.”
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This is saying she doesn’t have any regrets about the color of her skin. She’s not angry that she has to go to a different school because of her skin color. She also believes the world is too good of a place to be concerned with skin color and she wants to open up and show the world that skin color doesn’t matter.
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I really liked and respected this passage, in particular. She isn’t ashamed or saddened about slavery. She turns it all positive and states that each generation paved a different step for her and all African Americans to become citizens in civilization. She uses racing as an analogy and says that if she was to look back and dwell on slavery, she would get passed in her journey. I think people shouldn’t dwell on the past, but should use it as a guide in the do’s and donts of life
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I totally agree with Ashley! Even though she feels/knows people are talking about her or not talking to her because of her skin color she does not let it get to her. She can not understand why someone would not talk to her or talk about her when they do not even know her. What is sad about this is people still do it today. We judge someone by the way they are dressed or look before we talk to them. I wish I could say it will change in the near future, but I am not sure.
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In this part of the poem, she is talking about how she is like everyone else. She has no race and she is who she is…she is her own person. This could also be related to The Awakening when Mrs. Pontellier finds herself and her inner woman… a type of feminism…. the emerging of the “new woman.” Zora is who she is and she doesn’t understand why people don’t want to be around her just because of the color of her skin.
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This story is about a young black girl that grew up in the south. Throughout the poem, this girl proclaims how happy she is with herself. She describes seeing white people from time to time passing through town but see doesnt let this feel any different about herself. To me, Hurston’s main theme in this story is that race shouldn’t define who you are
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This paragraph gives us an idea of how confident and proud that young girls is about her abilities. She is amazed of the fact that a lot of people judge her just because she is colored. She is very sure that she has a lot to offer to the people around provided if they want to be in her company. This idea of discrimination and ignorance is beyond her thinking.
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This is very simple she is mainly saying that she isn’t mad that people talk down on her because they are being racists not toward her but to the color of her skin because clearly if they tried to get to know her they would think differently about her! NOt to say that them being against her skin color is right because we all know that it isn’t.
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She was she’s proud to be who she is as a black woman. She doesn’t see herself as no difference from anybody else no matter what color. The Great Soul she describes is her big ego and ambition to be successful in life and she always be american.
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She uses the arrogance of others negative thoughts of her and use them to build up her self esteem which help create strong proud black women. As she say, ” How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company?” She is telling people that its your loss not hers life is steady going on.
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Right here, she’s not saying that she is a Black American, she’s saying that she is an American citizen, period.
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I like this paragraph because it has a fountain of youth. She doesn’t see differences, and she’s a child enjoying life. No one is showing her that she is Black. She is very outgoing like most children during this age. She’s fearless.
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I agree with all of the comments. She embraces the fact that she is Black. She doesn’t let what the world think of her make her feel inadequate or lose sense of self. She accepts the situations as they are and learn from them.
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i agree with Daniel. She definitely looks at the world with a “glass is half full” attitude. She chose to flip the idea of being a granddaughter is bad. In this poem, she embraces all of what society consideres bad and it beautiful. She lemonade out of the lemons she was given.
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I agree with Saqib. She is proudly showing her confidence. She has this “here I am, love it or hate it, I’m here to stay” tone. She feel that it would be an honor for someone to try and pick her brain. In this stanza, she is showing strength,confidence, and intelligence.
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I like this paragraph. She has an interesting perspective on discrimination here. She sees it as a chance for glory-the separation of races gives attention to her race..attention for failure or “twice as much glory” because she is black. She turns a negative into a positive. If she achieves something great it would be all the more amazing because “a black woman” did it. At the time white society saw black people as inferior and incapable so any kind of achievement would be shocking —Hurston sees her race as an opportunity rather than an obstacle.
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I agree that this poem is about confidence. Hurston is saying that we must learn to define ourselves in some other way besides our race. She says that although at times in her life she feels “colored” it is because the world pushes this upon her, it is not something she truly feels. She understands that she is a person, not a skin color. I really like the last paragraph when she compares humans to paper bags, which differ on the outside but hold similar contents. As human beings, we all have simlilarities and differences that are based on personality and not skin color. We should learn to come together based on what is in our hearts instead of allowing what our exterior looks like pull us apart.
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I agree with all of the comments. She embraces the fact that she is Black. She doesn’t let others thought affect her own. She accepts the situations as they are and learn from them.
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Yes, she is proud of who she is what color she is. No matter her color, she is still an American to the core.
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