Anger management classes anyone?

Oprah will have her on next week to sugar coat the airport meltdown.

Shes been arrested so many timse, when the hell are they gonna lock this nutso up?! Let me be her asst i'll beat a models ass!! Lmao just kidding but they keep giving her these slap on the wrist ass punishments.. does she have to end up killing an employee before shes thrown in jail?! WHERE IS THE JUSTICE PEOPLE... :)

Anger mgt won't help as long as you are totally in love with yourself and consider everyone else below you. She has to see the problem first, admit it, and get out of denial. When hell freezes over probably.

LOL LuvMyJolie...that is totally funny..and also soo true. Put her back on Tyras show..she wont sugar coat it..Naomi was meaner than crap to her!

This woman is a total pig. She needs to get off her high horse and realize that she is not the only person on the planet. Someone needs to slap the crap out of her. Plain and simple.

What 's wrong with her???? She has been arrested many times. She is really crazy. Many friends I met on a dating site called meetingwealthy think so too. They are succesful men and women. We usually talk together.

She's Freakin' NUTS!!! :-(

She's Freakin' NUTS!!! :-(

I think it's safe to say she has a bad temper. Maybe they should give her some xanax..better yet, lock her in a room with Tom Cruise for a day and make sure they have the weed.

Naomi:

Please Read This - ALL JAMAICANS SHOULD SEE THIS VIDEO AT YOUTUBE
HOW NOT TO GET YOUR A...KICKED 101 BY CHRIS ROCK....LOL

Chris - how about a How Not To End Up Cleaning Toilets video seris?
Help us out here!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here is the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uj0mtxXEGE8

When Will She Learn to Grow Up......?

That was too funny, Kess

I don't believe this story is at all the way is was reported.

I THINK NAOMI IS BEING SET UP BY RACISTS WHO HATE HER COS SHES BLACK BEAUTIFUL SUCCESSFUL ETC I THINK SHE START SUEING SOME OF THESE HARRASSING RACIST BIGOTS I KNOW WHATS GOING ON ITS RACISM

Comme on the girl has problems, but y bring Oprah in this!!!

Naomi is crazy!!! News flash... she's not the only pretty person on the planet, and for the record Tyra is much classier. Point blank. I'm pettier than the both put together, and l love Tyra...lol.

I can't believe someone actually tried to pull the race card on this one. Sheesh.

Naomi is obviously bi-polar. How she gets away with what she does has to do with her beauty, success, position, agency, agent and lawyer.

She needs to admit she has a problem and see a therapist or just go see a therapist even if she doesn't think she has a problem. Her agency should write a clause in her next contract that she has to go to therapy in order to work.

Fay........GET A GRIP!!!!!!!!!! Reality passed you by a long time ago. Unless you're just someone's alter ego trying to get people riled up on here for sh*ts and giggles, which by the way is pretty stupid.

I simply do not understand why these celebrities get way with things we as the avergage american will not? Question? Are they better than us? If so give me celebrity status and let me go around hitting and abusing people and just beause I have money get out of it, . I am so sick of the stars getting special treatment, she of course will get out of this , and if i am correct isn;t this considered a epeat offense, which should be punishable by law..

I wouldn't call a airport security guard a police officer. Maybe a rent a cop, but not a police officer.

...who do these black people think they are behaving like they are actual human being like us. don't they know they are inferior? we have to teach them this before it is too late.

....we have to protect the children from women like this...they are ruining our way of life.

Hey Jane,
Just how superior are you if you can't even spell? Do something about your punctuation too. It's a mess, and you're a joke!!!

...who give a shit about spelling.

...who gives a shit about spelling and punctuation. is this all you've got. your black and inferior. get used to it.

...all these jamaicans are bipolar. we have to get them on medication. get them in anger management. send in organized teams to do it right. keep these people down..teach them that they are black.

Fay get your head out of your ars, not a misspelling, you spit on a uniform security guard, get tossed off a flight, it has nothing to do with race. I saw a white gentleman removed from a flight because he went to the bathroom while the plane was taxiing for take off. He was taken off because he was drunk. It cost them a few bucks to return to the terminal but it was for passengers safety. The security guards have guns so if you think their Barnie Fife, test them. Sorry about your out of control star, she needs help, yesterday.

She needs her b---- a-- kicked real good. She needs to know she is not beautiful with out all the help from make up and other help. Stop telling this b---- she is so beautiful, because in whose eyes? Think about it. (smile) Shock this b---- with a good a-- kicking and jail for assault. Give it to her real good. Like you would do any other black person!

...well...just so long as they are Jamaican. We don't want to be a.. kicking the African American rich middle class and multimillionaires a.. or they may turn around and kick our a.... However we can kick a.. in the inner city ghettos as they have no power to kick back...these black Jamaican immigrants are not organized and have no power so we can easily give them a good a.. kicking and there is nothing they can do about it. How dare these women come here and want to marry our white men and behave like they belong in the middle class. Kick their a... down to the ghetto where they belong.

KARMA will get her!

Let's give KARMA a little help....the American public is indifferent. We with money rule America.

we are the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

pain. the wings of a butterfly.

Naomi Campbell have to see a therapist

...and you black women married to white men better be giving our white men the full service on your knees bitch...we know we have cameras in your house watching you...or else YOUR A LESBIAN. We'll hunt you down like a dog until you get this

....how dare these black Jamaican models not have a chip on their shoulder. how dare they not be ashamed of AFRICA...how dare they think of themselves as beautiful....they are BLACK. BLACK. BLACK...and need to be hiding their black selves in a corner somewhere and not trying to compete for modelling jobs with our beautiful African American models like Tyra Banks who we all know is black and beautiful and should get all the modeling jobs out there.....

i am strong....what is psychic technology?

i am strong....what is psychic technology?

I AM STRONG...WHAT IS PSYCHIC TECHNOLOGY??????

i am strong...what is low frequency sound?

i am strong....what is low frequency sound?

I heard that she recently fell in love with a tall sportsman she met on a tall dating site ~~Tallkiss.com, where many famous tall models, tall players and tall admirers are engaged. Will the man block her for this?

i am strong...what is GPS tracking

Rose-

We have to protect our children from women like Jane.

Naomi seems intolerant of the papparazi hounding her every move for one thing. Me thinks it makes her lose it now!

Maybe the press should get some help to learn some freakin boundaries!

If you mean the "bipolar disorder rumor" - I have heard it, too. They use as a case study Frieda Kahlo who was a biracial Mexican Jewish artist - she painted The Two Friedas.

"They" use this argument to say that biracial people are bipolar. I think it's absolute bull - but I have heard it used for Jamaicans who have a lot of mixed blood.

Some people don't need much of an excuse to harass minorities.

If you mean the "bipolar disorder rumor" - I have heard it, too. They use as a case study Frieda Kahlo who was a biracial Mexican Jewish artist - she painted The Two Friedas.

"They" use this argument to say that biracial people are bipolar. I think it's absolute bull - but I have heard it used for Jamaicans who have a lot of mixed blood.

Some people don't need much of an excuse to harass minorities.

...no they don't need much of an excuse to harass minorities....while pretending they are helping you.

paparazzi? is that what they are calling sponsored stalking hate and harassment nowadays?...and what about women who are not rich and able to hire a rent -a-cop to protect themselves and their families? how are they to protect themselves from.....paparazzi hate gangs?

Jane...who do the hell do you think you are you racist country hick. Who cares about spelling or punctuation??

ANSWER-Someone with BRAINS!!! Something you obviously do not have!!!!

I would rather have Naomi (or any colored person) in my home any day over someone like you, you worthless piece of shit.

That goes for all of you who decided to make this blog about race/color.

Litte sister, did you read the article that proceeds these comments? It begins with a judgement "crazy Naomi" the "ill tempered model." I guess we should just hide behind our computers and sling mud or is it "pies" at the angry black woman but god forbid we should make it about anything else - that's just wrong.

Little sister, I wrote a novel back in 2001 and published through a self-publishing house. The book proofed okay but when it came out the word 'coming' was misspelled as as 'comming' throughout the text. As a result, the book was pulled from print after selling only two copies. Since then I have been hounded by the stalkerazzi. Have been through stalking harassment for years and can tell you that cyber-stalking is no picnic.

Think whatever you like of me....we are all entitled to our opinion. Be angry if you like....we all get angry at sometime or other. Even a dog fights if it is being attacked.

Litte sister, did you read the article that proceeds these comments? It begins with a judgement "crazy Naomi" the "ill tempered model." I guess we should just hide behind our computers and sling mud or is it "pies" at the angry black woman but god forbid we should make it about anything else - that's just wrong.

Little sister, I wrote a novel back in 2001 and published through a self-publishing house. The book proofed okay but when it came out the word 'coming' was misspelled as as 'comming' throughout the text. As a result, the book was pulled from print after selling only two copies. Since then I have been hounded by the stalkerazzi. Have been through stalking harassment for years and can tell you that cyber-stalking is no picnic.

Think whatever you like of me....we are all entitled to our opinion. Be angry if you like....we all get angry at sometime or other. Even a dog fights if it is being attacked.

Litte sister, did you read the article that proceeds these comments? It begins with a judgement "crazy Naomi" the "ill tempered model." I guess we should just hide behind our computers and sling mud or is it "pies" at the angry black woman but god forbid we should make it about anything else - that's just wrong.

Little sister, I wrote a novel back in 2001 and published through a self-publishing house. The book proofed okay but when it came out the word 'coming' was misspelled as as 'comming' throughout the text. As a result, the book was pulled from print after selling only two copies. Since then I have been hounded by the stalkerazzi. Have been through stalking harassment for years and can tell you that cyber-stalking is no picnic.

Think whatever you like of me....we are all entitled to our opinion. Be angry if you like....we all get angry at sometime or other. Even a dog fights if it is being attacked.

Litte sister, did you read the article that proceeds these comments? It begins with a judgement "crazy Naomi" the "ill tempered model." I guess we should just hide behind our computers and sling mud or is it "pies" at the angry black woman but god forbid we should make it about anything else - that's just wrong.

Little sister, I wrote a novel back in 2001 and published through a self-publishing house. The book proofed okay but when it came out the word 'coming' was misspelled as as 'comming' throughout the text. As a result, the book was pulled from print after selling only two copies. Since then I have been hounded by the stalkerazzi. Have been through stalking harassment for years and can tell you that cyber-stalking is no picnic.

Think whatever you like of me....we are all entitled to our opinion. Be angry if you like....we all get angry at sometime or other. Even a dog fights if it is being attacked.

Slate Magzine article by Debra Dickerson.
This article was followed by heated comments from African American and white readers that biracial children need to be taught that they are black. Here is the link http://www.slate.com/id/2106128/

Here is the article.
First Class by Debra Dickerson

Very often, when black people see me alone with my white-looking biracial children, they demand to know that I'm going to teach them that they're black. They do this with great seriousness, usually glaring into my eyes as if they caught me about to steal change from the collection plate. (Most whites, on the other hand, either think I'm the nanny or search for a polite way to ask if they're my biological children.) This question is not rhetorical. They wait, squint-eyed and ferocious, for an answer. Much as I'd like to say, "Damn skippy they're black. Holla," the anal-retentive, extra-credit-loving hall monitor in me has to ask: "But why doesn't my husband's culture and DNA count?" Then, without fail, the hysterical, spittle-inflected tirade begins: "They're just niggers to the cops," such a person will say, or "Self-hating" blah blah, "You think whites will accept them?" etc. I can't imagine a more pointless or less dignified discussion.

When I look at my kids, I see only my babies. People are always lying about how they don't "see race," but, in this world, that can really only be true when it comes to those you love. I don't think of my children as black or white, so I can't take the world's attempt to superimpose its silliness on them seriously, though I know that as they get older, I'll have to.

I make my living writing about race, but once I'm home with my family, I'm just a wife and mom. No one is more surprised by that than I am. When I was pregnant the first time, I subjected my husband to long lectures about being the father of black children. I gave the man homework, like reading Toni Morrison's books and watching my bootleg Eyes on the Prize video history of the civil rights movement. Then, when each child was born Klan-robe white, my husband turned the tables: "Debra, we have to talk about you being the mother of white children."

Blacks like those described above, truth be told, begrudge biracial people their whiteness, however attenuated, because it is they who are self-hating. They invariably end their tirade with: "You know they're going to get darker, right? Their hair's going to get nappy." This is always said with relish, as if they were telling me that my winning lottery ticket was a forgery. I look away because I'm so embarrassed for them. I couldn't care less what my kids look like. What I begrudge them is their privilege. Race schmace. The real issue is class.

Listening to my 3-year-old go on the other day about motor boats, preschool, lake houses, Vietnamese food, and skiing at Steamboat Springs, I felt a moment of vertigo followed by panic: The boy just sounded so, so … white. Worse, like a white woman, like the teachers who dote on him and his blond curls. He began every other sentence with an overenunciated, "E-actually, Mom" or, "In fact, Dad." He referred to his chicken noodle soup as "the first course." All at once, I could see my babies through a stranger's eyes: My kids are the ones that made poor kids like me embarrassed of our threadbare lives. My kids, God help me, are rich, that birth defect for which I have only begun to forgive a chosen few.

In my mind, no one can begrudge me my success because I built this life for myself with a hammer and a nail. My parents were uneducated, Great Migration Jim Crow sharecroppers. Up north, in St. Louis, my father, a World War II Marine, drove a truck and did odd jobs. My mother worked in factories, waited tables, cleaned offices, and nannied. I started working at 13 and, after dropping out of community college, got my BA and MA at night while in the Air Force. Since I escaped the working class, everyone born outside of it has been presumed to be a lazy, weak oppressor until proven otherwise. (You motivate yourself your way, and I'll motivate myself mine.)

But what about my own kids? If it's true that George H. W. Bush, as Texas Agriculture Commissioner Jim Hightower* quipped, was born on third base but thinks he hit a triple, you could say that my kids were born on second base. My job is not to teach them that they're black. My job is to teach them that they damn sure didn't hit a double. I will not allow them to coast on that which they didn't earn; they have to prove their worth to the world. And, frankly, to their mother.

Feminism and class consciousness have always come more naturally to me than race consciousness. Born in 1959, I was insulated from the most direct racism by the overt segregation blacks faced, even up North, but trapped under the thumb of any black person who peed standing up. In other words, whites weren't the reason my brother was forbidden from cleaning up his own messes or why my mother slaved around our house until late in the evening—still in her pink waitress uniform—while my father puttered in the basement. Male privilege within the black community was, and remains, oppressive.

And the chasm between professional or light-skinned blacks (God help us if they were both) and us "cabbage and cornbread" broad-nosed Negroes was equally pronounced; these "seditty, high falutin' " blacks were as determined to segregate us from them as were whites. Our shared blackness never trumped gender or class. Few whites were in a position to exploit or despise me the way black men and the black elite were.

But now, not only am I sleeping with the enemy, I'm singing it lullabies and scheming to get it to the head of every line. I'm like those World War II vets who bemoaned our lost valor and patriotic unselfishness but then turned around and helped their own sons shirk duty in Vietnam. I'm going to have to find a way to reconcile my reverse snobbery with invoking, on my children's behalf, the old boys' network I've worked my way into.

I'm desperate to prevent them from becoming the kind of privileged snots with that disgusting sense of entitlement I saw in too many of my trust-funded classmates at Harvard Law School. Their (white) grandfather is tenured at a public Ivy. Their mother writes books and is on television. Dad's an architect. My son's godparents are Harvard muckety-mucks. My infant daughter's are journalism big shots—can you say early admission to an Ivy, snazzy internships, and eenie-meenie-minie-moe-ing between cushy first jobs? I scheme and freelance so as to squirrel away money for them so they can have all the ski trips and concert tickets that their mother never had. And yet even as I do so, I begin to wonder if, on some level, I'll come to despise them.

That last sentiment seems unnecessarily harsh—except when I think of a friend who is the child of his father's second, young, post-success wife. This friend was raised in Europe, attended an English boarding school, then Cambridge University. He'd told his father about a brawl involving some friends that he'd witnessed but not participated in. Looking for absolution, he'd said, "I suppose I should have jumped in." His father had grown up a poor immigrant Jew in the tough Irish slums of 1920s Chicago. Disgusted, Dad had snarled, "Yes, you should have" and walked away without another word. "He wrapped me in cotton wool," my friend said, "but expected me to act like I'd grown up in the rough."

Blacks like the ones I've described are trying to force me to say my kids' real name is "Toby." I'm trying to keep their real name from being Paris Hilton. I thought I understood how difficult that would be. Then, the other day, my black hairdresser kept affecting a Condoleezza Rice overarticulation in response to every thing I said to her. I paid little attention, until she said, "E-actually" for the fifth time. I asked if she could fit in a deep conditioner; "That could be problematic," she orated, and cracked herself up. That's when it hit me: The white woman my son sounds like is me.

Correction, September 10, 2004: Debra Dickerson's article "High Class," posted Friday, September 3, 2004, originally attributed the "third base" quote to former Texas Gov. Ann Richards and indicated Richards was speaking about George W. Bush. In fact, former Texas Agriculture Commissioner Jim Hightower said it and he was speaking about George H. W. Bush. (Return to the corrected sentence.)
Debra Dickerson is the author of The End of Blackness and An American Story.

Article URL: http://www.slate.com/id/2106128/

Slate Magzine article by Debra Dickerson.
This article was followed by heated comments from African American and white readers that biracial children need to be taught that they are black. Here is the link http://www.slate.com/id/2106128/

Here is the article.
First Class by Debra Dickerson

Very often, when black people see me alone with my white-looking biracial children, they demand to know that I'm going to teach them that they're black. They do this with great seriousness, usually glaring into my eyes as if they caught me about to steal change from the collection plate. (Most whites, on the other hand, either think I'm the nanny or search for a polite way to ask if they're my biological children.) This question is not rhetorical. They wait, squint-eyed and ferocious, for an answer. Much as I'd like to say, "Damn skippy they're black. Holla," the anal-retentive, extra-credit-loving hall monitor in me has to ask: "But why doesn't my husband's culture and DNA count?" Then, without fail, the hysterical, spittle-inflected tirade begins: "They're just niggers to the cops," such a person will say, or "Self-hating" blah blah, "You think whites will accept them?" etc. I can't imagine a more pointless or less dignified discussion.

When I look at my kids, I see only my babies. People are always lying about how they don't "see race," but, in this world, that can really only be true when it comes to those you love. I don't think of my children as black or white, so I can't take the world's attempt to superimpose its silliness on them seriously, though I know that as they get older, I'll have to.

I make my living writing about race, but once I'm home with my family, I'm just a wife and mom. No one is more surprised by that than I am. When I was pregnant the first time, I subjected my husband to long lectures about being the father of black children. I gave the man homework, like reading Toni Morrison's books and watching my bootleg Eyes on the Prize video history of the civil rights movement. Then, when each child was born Klan-robe white, my husband turned the tables: "Debra, we have to talk about you being the mother of white children."

Blacks like those described above, truth be told, begrudge biracial people their whiteness, however attenuated, because it is they who are self-hating. They invariably end their tirade with: "You know they're going to get darker, right? Their hair's going to get nappy." This is always said with relish, as if they were telling me that my winning lottery ticket was a forgery. I look away because I'm so embarrassed for them. I couldn't care less what my kids look like. What I begrudge them is their privilege. Race schmace. The real issue is class.

Listening to my 3-year-old go on the other day about motor boats, preschool, lake houses, Vietnamese food, and skiing at Steamboat Springs, I felt a moment of vertigo followed by panic: The boy just sounded so, so … white. Worse, like a white woman, like the teachers who dote on him and his blond curls. He began every other sentence with an overenunciated, "E-actually, Mom" or, "In fact, Dad." He referred to his chicken noodle soup as "the first course." All at once, I could see my babies through a stranger's eyes: My kids are the ones that made poor kids like me embarrassed of our threadbare lives. My kids, God help me, are rich, that birth defect for which I have only begun to forgive a chosen few.

In my mind, no one can begrudge me my success because I built this life for myself with a hammer and a nail. My parents were uneducated, Great Migration Jim Crow sharecroppers. Up north, in St. Louis, my father, a World War II Marine, drove a truck and did odd jobs. My mother worked in factories, waited tables, cleaned offices, and nannied. I started working at 13 and, after dropping out of community college, got my BA and MA at night while in the Air Force. Since I escaped the working class, everyone born outside of it has been presumed to be a lazy, weak oppressor until proven otherwise. (You motivate yourself your way, and I'll motivate myself mine.)

But what about my own kids? If it's true that George H. W. Bush, as Texas Agriculture Commissioner Jim Hightower* quipped, was born on third base but thinks he hit a triple, you could say that my kids were born on second base. My job is not to teach them that they're black. My job is to teach them that they damn sure didn't hit a double. I will not allow them to coast on that which they didn't earn; they have to prove their worth to the world. And, frankly, to their mother.

Feminism and class consciousness have always come more naturally to me than race consciousness. Born in 1959, I was insulated from the most direct racism by the overt segregation blacks faced, even up North, but trapped under the thumb of any black person who peed standing up. In other words, whites weren't the reason my brother was forbidden from cleaning up his own messes or why my mother slaved around our house until late in the evening—still in her pink waitress uniform—while my father puttered in the basement. Male privilege within the black community was, and remains, oppressive.

And the chasm between professional or light-skinned blacks (God help us if they were both) and us "cabbage and cornbread" broad-nosed Negroes was equally pronounced; these "seditty, high falutin' " blacks were as determined to segregate us from them as were whites. Our shared blackness never trumped gender or class. Few whites were in a position to exploit or despise me the way black men and the black elite were.

But now, not only am I sleeping with the enemy, I'm singing it lullabies and scheming to get it to the head of every line. I'm like those World War II vets who bemoaned our lost valor and patriotic unselfishness but then turned around and helped their own sons shirk duty in Vietnam. I'm going to have to find a way to reconcile my reverse snobbery with invoking, on my children's behalf, the old boys' network I've worked my way into.

I'm desperate to prevent them from becoming the kind of privileged snots with that disgusting sense of entitlement I saw in too many of my trust-funded classmates at Harvard Law School. Their (white) grandfather is tenured at a public Ivy. Their mother writes books and is on television. Dad's an architect. My son's godparents are Harvard muckety-mucks. My infant daughter's are journalism big shots—can you say early admission to an Ivy, snazzy internships, and eenie-meenie-minie-moe-ing between cushy first jobs? I scheme and freelance so as to squirrel away money for them so they can have all the ski trips and concert tickets that their mother never had. And yet even as I do so, I begin to wonder if, on some level, I'll come to despise them.

That last sentiment seems unnecessarily harsh—except when I think of a friend who is the child of his father's second, young, post-success wife. This friend was raised in Europe, attended an English boarding school, then Cambridge University. He'd told his father about a brawl involving some friends that he'd witnessed but not participated in. Looking for absolution, he'd said, "I suppose I should have jumped in." His father had grown up a poor immigrant Jew in the tough Irish slums of 1920s Chicago. Disgusted, Dad had snarled, "Yes, you should have" and walked away without another word. "He wrapped me in cotton wool," my friend said, "but expected me to act like I'd grown up in the rough."

Blacks like the ones I've described are trying to force me to say my kids' real name is "Toby." I'm trying to keep their real name from being Paris Hilton. I thought I understood how difficult that would be. Then, the other day, my black hairdresser kept affecting a Condoleezza Rice overarticulation in response to every thing I said to her. I paid little attention, until she said, "E-actually" for the fifth time. I asked if she could fit in a deep conditioner; "That could be problematic," she orated, and cracked herself up. That's when it hit me: The white woman my son sounds like is me.

Correction, September 10, 2004: Debra Dickerson's article "High Class," posted Friday, September 3, 2004, originally attributed the "third base" quote to former Texas Gov. Ann Richards and indicated Richards was speaking about George W. Bush. In fact, former Texas Agriculture Commissioner Jim Hightower said it and he was speaking about George H. W. Bush. (Return to the corrected sentence.)
Debra Dickerson is the author of The End of Blackness and An American Story.

Article URL: http://www.slate.com/id/2106128/

Slate Magzine article by Debra Dickerson.
This article was followed by heated comments from African American and white readers that biracial children need to be taught that they are black. Here is the link http://www.slate.com/id/2106128/

Here is the article.
First Class by Debra Dickerson

Very often, when black people see me alone with my white-looking biracial children, they demand to know that I'm going to teach them that they're black. They do this with great seriousness, usually glaring into my eyes as if they caught me about to steal change from the collection plate. (Most whites, on the other hand, either think I'm the nanny or search for a polite way to ask if they're my biological children.) This question is not rhetorical. They wait, squint-eyed and ferocious, for an answer. Much as I'd like to say, "Damn skippy they're black. Holla," the anal-retentive, extra-credit-loving hall monitor in me has to ask: "But why doesn't my husband's culture and DNA count?" Then, without fail, the hysterical, spittle-inflected tirade begins: "They're just niggers to the cops," such a person will say, or "Self-hating" blah blah, "You think whites will accept them?" etc. I can't imagine a more pointless or less dignified discussion.

When I look at my kids, I see only my babies. People are always lying about how they don't "see race," but, in this world, that can really only be true when it comes to those you love. I don't think of my children as black or white, so I can't take the world's attempt to superimpose its silliness on them seriously, though I know that as they get older, I'll have to.

I make my living writing about race, but once I'm home with my family, I'm just a wife and mom. No one is more surprised by that than I am. When I was pregnant the first time, I subjected my husband to long lectures about being the father of black children. I gave the man homework, like reading Toni Morrison's books and watching my bootleg Eyes on the Prize video history of the civil rights movement. Then, when each child was born Klan-robe white, my husband turned the tables: "Debra, we have to talk about you being the mother of white children."

Blacks like those described above, truth be told, begrudge biracial people their whiteness, however attenuated, because it is they who are self-hating. They invariably end their tirade with: "You know they're going to get darker, right? Their hair's going to get nappy." This is always said with relish, as if they were telling me that my winning lottery ticket was a forgery. I look away because I'm so embarrassed for them. I couldn't care less what my kids look like. What I begrudge them is their privilege. Race schmace. The real issue is class.

Listening to my 3-year-old go on the other day about motor boats, preschool, lake houses, Vietnamese food, and skiing at Steamboat Springs, I felt a moment of vertigo followed by panic: The boy just sounded so, so … white. Worse, like a white woman, like the teachers who dote on him and his blond curls. He began every other sentence with an overenunciated, "E-actually, Mom" or, "In fact, Dad." He referred to his chicken noodle soup as "the first course." All at once, I could see my babies through a stranger's eyes: My kids are the ones that made poor kids like me embarrassed of our threadbare lives. My kids, God help me, are rich, that birth defect for which I have only begun to forgive a chosen few.

In my mind, no one can begrudge me my success because I built this life for myself with a hammer and a nail. My parents were uneducated, Great Migration Jim Crow sharecroppers. Up north, in St. Louis, my father, a World War II Marine, drove a truck and did odd jobs. My mother worked in factories, waited tables, cleaned offices, and nannied. I started working at 13 and, after dropping out of community college, got my BA and MA at night while in the Air Force. Since I escaped the working class, everyone born outside of it has been presumed to be a lazy, weak oppressor until proven otherwise. (You motivate yourself your way, and I'll motivate myself mine.)

But what about my own kids? If it's true that George H. W. Bush, as Texas Agriculture Commissioner Jim Hightower* quipped, was born on third base but thinks he hit a triple, you could say that my kids were born on second base. My job is not to teach them that they're black. My job is to teach them that they damn sure didn't hit a double. I will not allow them to coast on that which they didn't earn; they have to prove their worth to the world. And, frankly, to their mother.

Feminism and class consciousness have always come more naturally to me than race consciousness. Born in 1959, I was insulated from the most direct racism by the overt segregation blacks faced, even up North, but trapped under the thumb of any black person who peed standing up. In other words, whites weren't the reason my brother was forbidden from cleaning up his own messes or why my mother slaved around our house until late in the evening—still in her pink waitress uniform—while my father puttered in the basement. Male privilege within the black community was, and remains, oppressive.

And the chasm between professional or light-skinned blacks (God help us if they were both) and us "cabbage and cornbread" broad-nosed Negroes was equally pronounced; these "seditty, high falutin' " blacks were as determined to segregate us from them as were whites. Our shared blackness never trumped gender or class. Few whites were in a position to exploit or despise me the way black men and the black elite were.

But now, not only am I sleeping with the enemy, I'm singing it lullabies and scheming to get it to the head of every line. I'm like those World War II vets who bemoaned our lost valor and patriotic unselfishness but then turned around and helped their own sons shirk duty in Vietnam. I'm going to have to find a way to reconcile my reverse snobbery with invoking, on my children's behalf, the old boys' network I've worked my way into.

I'm desperate to prevent them from becoming the kind of privileged snots with that disgusting sense of entitlement I saw in too many of my trust-funded classmates at Harvard Law School. Their (white) grandfather is tenured at a public Ivy. Their mother writes books and is on television. Dad's an architect. My son's godparents are Harvard muckety-mucks. My infant daughter's are journalism big shots—can you say early admission to an Ivy, snazzy internships, and eenie-meenie-minie-moe-ing between cushy first jobs? I scheme and freelance so as to squirrel away money for them so they can have all the ski trips and concert tickets that their mother never had. And yet even as I do so, I begin to wonder if, on some level, I'll come to despise them.

That last sentiment seems unnecessarily harsh—except when I think of a friend who is the child of his father's second, young, post-success wife. This friend was raised in Europe, attended an English boarding school, then Cambridge University. He'd told his father about a brawl involving some friends that he'd witnessed but not participated in. Looking for absolution, he'd said, "I suppose I should have jumped in." His father had grown up a poor immigrant Jew in the tough Irish slums of 1920s Chicago. Disgusted, Dad had snarled, "Yes, you should have" and walked away without another word. "He wrapped me in cotton wool," my friend said, "but expected me to act like I'd grown up in the rough."

Blacks like the ones I've described are trying to force me to say my kids' real name is "Toby." I'm trying to keep their real name from being Paris Hilton. I thought I understood how difficult that would be. Then, the other day, my black hairdresser kept affecting a Condoleezza Rice overarticulation in response to every thing I said to her. I paid little attention, until she said, "E-actually" for the fifth time. I asked if she could fit in a deep conditioner; "That could be problematic," she orated, and cracked herself up. That's when it hit me: The white woman my son sounds like is me.

Correction, September 10, 2004: Debra Dickerson's article "High Class," posted Friday, September 3, 2004, originally attributed the "third base" quote to former Texas Gov. Ann Richards and indicated Richards was speaking about George W. Bush. In fact, former Texas Agriculture Commissioner Jim Hightower said it and he was speaking about George H. W. Bush. (Return to the corrected sentence.)
Debra Dickerson is the author of The End of Blackness and An American Story.

Article URL: http://www.slate.com/id/2106128/

Just wanted to add for all of you stalkarazzi - I am the kid who was always gazing out of the window. I did not pay much attention in school and probably missed quite a bit. I was a daydreamer and to this day like to daydream. This is totally okay with me.
I am a lay person who has taken a few classes. I have never considered myself a writer but I like to 'fool around' with writing and words sometime. It was online self-publishing which to me was no more than the new vanity press. I wrote my novel, not as a serious writer but as a writing experiment and something to hand out to family members. I didn't have money to put into the project for copy editing - only enough money for the printing.
I am not a writer and it was a lark.

Of course Naomi loves herself - how could a person with low self-worth walk down a catwalk in public view without high self-esteem.

I have no university degree but I am well read, well travelled, intellectual and smart. I come with a huge amount to offer. I am better than this. I deserve better than this. And y'all? Well, YOU DON'T DESERVE ME.

Of course Naomi loves herself - how could a person with low self-worth walk down a catwalk in public view without high self-esteem.

I have no university degree but I am well read, well travelled, intellectual and smart. I come with a huge amount to offer. I am better than this. I deserve better than this. And y'all? Well, YOU DON'T DESERVE ME.

I think it is interesting that people who are Southern and know about these things and how they work recognize that I am being targeted by the Klu Klux Klan.

I would say these are possibly retired police and their new sophisticated recruits and 911 powers. It seems possible they are in cahoots with my 'Criminal Justice' neighbours across the street.

Here I am - left with 'agents' who watch and do nothing. What are they waiting for?

How can I get from under these people? And, I mean both. Why will nobody help me?

Following me around does not help...I'm an adult and don't need to be followed around. It makes things worst because people don't know what's going on. I can watch my own back, thank you.

What would help? I can't stay locked up in this house any longer - it feels like dying. Employment would help. It is impossible to survive without money in America and I can hardly afford new underwear more over anything else these days. What's the point of living if you have no life. And, I am past being too proud to take cash. Having a friend would be nice.

I think it is interesting that people who are Southern and know about these things and how they work recognize that I am being targeted by the Klu Klux Klan.

I would say these are possibly retired police and their new sophisticated recruits and 911 powers. It seems possible they are in cahoots with my 'Criminal Justice' neighbours across the street.

Here I am - left with 'agents' who watch and do nothing. What are they waiting for?

How can I get from under these people? And, I mean both. Why will nobody help me?

Following me around does not help...I'm an adult and don't need to be followed around. It makes things worst because people don't know what's going on. I can watch my own back, thank you.

What would help? I can't stay locked up in this house any longer - it feels like dying. Employment would help. It is impossible to survive without money in America and I can hardly afford new underwear more over anything else these days. What's the point of living if you have no life. And, I am past being too proud to take cash. Having a friend would be nice.

...but do you notice that the day you are being harassed those who are supposedly "protecting" you are never around? They are all a bunch of scam artists. It's all a big scam.

Don't you like how when you go into a store they keep changing out the person at the counter right in front of you. Isn't that hilarious. How is that supposed to make a person feel? Do they do that to you too? How is the store clerk supposed to feel when they do that to them? Some of them don't seem to like it.

KKK is a control game scam.

...but do you notice that the day you are being harassed those who are supposedly "protecting" you are never around? They are all a bunch of scam artists. It's all a big scam.

Don't you like how when you go into a store they keep changing out the person at the counter right in front of you. Isn't that hilarious. How is that supposed to make a person feel? Do they do that to you too? How is the store clerk supposed to feel when they do that to them? Some of them don't seem to like it.

KKK is a control game scam.

...but do you notice that the day you are being harassed those who are supposedly "protecting" you are never around? They are all a bunch of scam artists. It's all a big scam.

Don't you like how when you go into a store they keep changing out the person at the counter right in front of you. Isn't that hilarious. How is that supposed to make a person feel? Do they do that to you too? How is the store clerk supposed to feel when they do that to them? Some of them don't seem to like it.

KKK is a control game scam.

...but do you notice that the day you are being harassed those who are supposedly "protecting" you are never around? They are all a bunch of scam artists. It's all a big scam.

Don't you like how when you go into a store they keep changing out the person at the counter right in front of you. Isn't that hilarious. How is that supposed to make a person feel? Do they do that to you too? How is the store clerk supposed to feel when they do that to them? Some of them don't seem to like it.

KKK is a control game scam.

...but do you notice that the day you are being harassed those who are supposedly "protecting" you are never around? They are all a bunch of scam artists. It's all a big scam.

Don't you like how when you go into a store they keep changing out the person at the counter right in front of you. Isn't that hilarious. How is that supposed to make a person feel? Do they do that to you too? How is the store clerk supposed to feel when they do that to them? Some of them don't seem to like it.

KKK is a control game scam.

"they" are not there to protect you...they are there to keep you isolated from others. that's why they change out the staff in the stores with their people. they don't want you forming any kind of friendships with people.

"they" are not there to protect you...they are there to keep you isolated from others. that's why they change out the staff in the stores with their people. they don't want you forming any kind of friendships with people.

"they" are not there to protect you...they are there to keep you isolated from others. that's why they change out the staff in the stores with their people. they don't want you forming any kind of friendships with people.

"they" are not there to protect you...they are there to keep you isolated from others. that's why they change out the staff in the stores with their people. they don't want you forming any kind of friendships with people.

...to take an innocent middle age black biracial woman ...set her up with the KKK then leave her to fry...now that takes courage...

...we have to make an example of these people before it is too late.

...teach them that they are black and inferior.

...to take an innocent middle age black biracial woman ...set her up with the KKK then leave her to fry...now that takes courage...

...we have to make an example of these people before it is too late.

...teach them that they are black and inferior.

...we have to control them.

...you should try dodging these stalking road rage gangs that they send to run you off the road (?)...hahaha...poor me in my little 4 cylinder car...it went on for years...they would send road rage gangs or dump trucks will boxes and junk flying and dump trucks with gravel, dirt and sand flying...sometimes both...gangs of men wearing masks boxing my little car in...it was like something from a movie but real...then one day a few week after you took your brakes in for a service...your brakes fail and only by the intervention of what must have been an unseen hand do you survive....very scary....funny though...a person goes on living with fear and after a while start to watch things like it's happening to someone else and not to you.

...I mean - it's not just a control scam. they don't just want to control you - they want humiliation. you know, Abu Ghraib style stuff. control and humiliation is their game.
...no holds barred hate crimes and anything that they think will humiliate....it's not enough for an aged parent to have a stroke, he must be made to become totally sexually uninhibited to instil the the maximum humiliation to a very conservative and religious family.
...secret surgery performed for this...and colaboration

...I mean - it's not just a control scam. they don't just want to control you - they want humiliation. you know, Abu Ghraib style stuff. control and humiliation is their game.
...no holds barred hate crimes and anything that they think will humiliate....it's not enough for an aged parent to have a stroke, he must be made to become totally sexually uninhibited to instil the the maximum humiliation to a very conservative and religious family.
...secret surgery performed for this...and colaboration

...I mean - it's not just a control scam. they don't just want to control you - they want humiliation. you know, Abu Ghraib style stuff. control and humiliation is their game.
...no holds barred hate crimes and anything that they think will humiliate....it's not enough for an aged parent to have a stroke, he must be made to become totally sexually uninhibited to instil the the maximum humiliation to a very conservative and religious family.
...secret surgery performed for this...and colaboration

...I mean - it's not just a control scam. they don't just want to control you - they want humiliation. you know, Abu Ghraib style stuff. control and humiliation is their game.
...no holds barred hate crimes and anything that they think will humiliate....it's not enough for an aged parent to have a stroke, he must be made to become totally sexually uninhibited to instil the the maximum humiliation to a very conservative and religious family.
...secret surgery performed for this...and colaboration

RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION

RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION
RED & BLACK + WHITE = COLLABORATION

KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM

KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
KINDLY CALL THE DOGS OFF MY FAMILY IF YOU WANT ME YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM
YOU WANT A WHIPPING DOG HERE I AM

...and everyone knows the Jews only like black people when they are under their thumb...so where does that leave the rest of us.

...and everyone knows the Jews only like black people when they are under their thumb...and don't like it when they get too uppitty... so where does that leave the rest of us.