Watermelon

While I was a college student during the mid-to-late 1980s, I have fond recollections of the picnics held on campus in the early fall and late spring. Standard picnic fare included hamburgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob, a selection of salads, homemade brownies, and watermelon. A classmate shared the following with me during one of these picnics: One of the cafeteria staff, upon seeing my classmate approaching the watermelon table asked her, “Would you like a slice of watermelon”? If the dynamics of the exchange aren’t apparent, the cafeteria worker was White, and my classmate, Black.

My classmate believed the exchange to be racist. To her, the cafeteria worker made an assumption of her affinity for watermelon based on racist portrayals and negative stereotypes associated with Black Americans and the fruit in question.

The above account changed my own views on watermelon for the next 20 years. No joke. I did not consume watermelon, at least not in the presence of White people, for fear of perpetuating the stereotype. Which is strange, because I did not grow up with negative associations about watermelon at the family compound. My parents, who are true Southerners, are watermelon connoseiurs. They can determine the quality of watermelon on look, feel, and taste. Whenever my father buys a watermelon for my mother from the roadside stand or the supermarket, I ask her, “How is/was the watermelon?” I can trust my mother’s quality control assessment, without question. As a result, I myself have become a good watermelon detective, but hope to aspire to my mother’s skill level some day. I also have loving memories of summer family vacations spent at the home of my maternal grandparents. I recall my maternal grandfather bringing home huge watermelons, which we would all enjoy for several days. My maternal grandfather, according to my mother, loved watermelon juice. In fact, this was the one beverage he requested just before he died.

The portrayals of Black Americans and watermelon were racist, and were created by White Americans to reinforce the belief that we were lazy and unintelligent. However, not eating watermelon on the basis of racist portrayals and negative stereotypes is counterintuitive. Many Black Americans refuse to eat a fruit which we have been taught not to eat, but that we need to eat because it is good for us. The ultimate irony.

As for my college classmate: Was it racism? I don’t believe it was. I do, however, believe the dynamics, at least for her, made it so. Therefore, I do not deny her feelings – then or now. Honestly, the cafeteria worker most likely asked the same question of every student who approached the watermelon table, without any racist tone in her voice, and would probably have been very surprised to know that my classmate interpreted the exchange as racist. Thus is the baggage we as Black Americans carry, as a result of the racist history of our country. It colors – pun intended – every exchange and encounter. However, our hang-up with watermelon is one bag we need to unload.

I now eat watermelon – in public, as well as at home. What changed my mindset? Dr. David Pilgrim. I am eternally grateful to him.

Thoughts?