Guest columnist
My friend and his wife had a baby a couple of weeks ago. In the process of having the standard new baby-type discussions – you know, how long is she sleeping at night, how dark do you think she’s gonna be – we hit upon a topic of some real significance: What are you gonna do about the word “nigga”?
I’m ambivalent about the word. I understand the arguments surrounding it, but for me that word is not dramatically different from other colorful linguistic elements, in that its use is largely contextual. To my mind, there are no intrinsically bad words, just situations in which certain words are inappropriate.
But that’s for me. Right now. Someone who’s been saying it for years. When we start talking about introducing it to a child, that’s something altogether different.
I’m not exactly sure how I got started with the word. I can probably count on one hand the number of time’s that I’ve heard my mother say it. My grandmother’s usage was a little more frequent, but still sporadic and never in a positive or even neutral sense. It took a lot to get her to say it, but whenever it happened, the place to find me was on the floor, where I was laughing to the brink of teary suffocation.
I’m still not sure on how it got to be a featured part of my idiolect. I’m thinking it had to be the neighborhood kids, though. Language acquisition is an interesting thing. It’s thought-provoking to understand how kids get to use the words for concrete objects. With “nigga” being the liquid concept it can be, particularly among people who know and for the most part like each other, it’s quite a bit for me to wrap my head around.
I’d be curious to know who the first person was of whom I said, “That’s my nigga.” Even though that usage represents the much-ballyhooed use of a pejorative as a term of endearment, I’m almost certain it’s not something I thought about too much. It probably slipped out just as easily as it had gotten in.
But, that’s just me. As a parent, it’s a little different. I figure that the word probably will slip into my daughter’s consciousness and speech just like it did mine. Even at that, I’m trying to be careful that she doesn’t get it from me. There have been occasions when I had to catch myself before I let it slip out. But, for the most part, I’m pretty deliberate about style shifting so that word isn’t even an option.
I know what I’m doing. She doesn’t. Knowing that, I guess the real question isn’t whether I will be the one to introduce it to her. The real question is: What will I do the first time I hear her say it?
It’s unlikely that I would take some “we don’t use that word around here” approach, because that would be a flat-out lie. I say “nigga” like it’s going out if style. More than likely, I’ll ask her what that word means and where she heard it. The very fact that I question it probably will have something of a deterrent effect, but, beyond that, I’m not sure what I expect. Maybe she’ll get into the habit, maybe she won’t.
I guess that, in a perfect world, my daughter’s would be the last generation to hear “nigga” in any sense or context. It would also be nice to believe that my friend’s daughter will grow up ignorant of that word and of racism, for that matter. I know better, though. There’s no getting rid of racism, because the pathologies it’s based on are inseparable from human nature.
Maybe the best I can do is give my daughter a healthy sense of herself, strong critical thinking skills, and a healthy enough vocabulary to never need to say “nigga,” if she doesn’t want to.
Read Avery Tooley’s blog at www.averytooley.com.