How It Feels to Be Colored Me….
Friday, February 3rd, 2012In Honor of Black History month, HSK will daily highlight a person, place, or event that was significant for the progress and development of black american culture and values….
Zora Neale Hurston is one of those people
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How It Feels to Be Colored Me….
by Zora Neale Hurston (1891 – 1960)
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 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. Continue Reading…















