True Dat?

“True dat,” said the anchorman, in response to a comment from a reporter. True dat. From an anchorman on the six o’clock news. A white anchorman. Dressed in a suit. Not the colorful sportscaster, nor the ditzy weather girl dressed for clubbing, but the man behind the desk. The one whose face the network hopes we will regard as trustworthy. Whose voice we will rely on to present the events of the day in an unbiased and responsible way. True dat.

At first, I was not sure I heard him correctly. Did he really say “True dat?”

Now, I am white. I have always been white. Even when I was a kid, I was white. I expect that I shall always be white. I feel no reason to apologize for being white. I know that caucasian is probably more accurate a term, because my skin tone is not actually white, but I take no offense when I am referred to as white. It is what I am, and it does not seem likely to change. It would be foolish of me to try to be anything other than white. I might play a character on stage who is not white, but in real life I know that I am, in fact, white.

That can probably be said about every white person I have ever met, or will ever meet. I’m sure there may be exceptions, but for the most part, anyone who started out as white will end up as white. That should be a given.

Why then, am I confronted daily with white people speaking in gangsta rap slang? White people from the suburbs. White people who are old enough to have grown children. Even white people on the news. Trying to sound, what, young? Cool? Black?

How is it cool to sound black? When did ebonics ever sound anything other than ignorant, whether being spoken by a white person or a black one? I cannot understand why any white person in their right mind would choose to speak gangsta rap. For that matter, I cannot understand why any black person in their right mind would choose to speak that way.

None of the black people I know speak in ebonics. They view the gold toothed gangsta rappers in the same way that white people view shirtless trailer park drunks running from the cops on those reality shows. As embarrassing stereotypes. Ignorance is not subject to interpretation according to cultural differences. Ignorance is ignorance, and it should not be something toward which we aspire.

Imagine an Asian person dyeing their hair shocking red, having their face tattooed with freckles, walking around with a cane and speaking like the Lucky Charms leprechaun. “Top O the mornin’ to ya!” Going on and on about “potaters” and their saintly mum, and drinking “a wee bit O whiskey at the pub.” It would be no more ridiculous than the hordes of white suburbanites pretending to be black gangstas from the hood.

The only people who should be speaking like gangstas from the hood are gangstas from the hood. If someone grows up in the projects, where surviving past the age of nineteen is considered an accomplishment, then it is perfectly understandable why education might not be a top priority to them. That of course is a shame, since education is a sure way out of that scenario.

A young kid whose parents grew up in the same rough environment, and is surrounded by other kids who know nothing different, cannot possibly be expected to do anything other than emulate his older brother, who must seem awfully cool in his gold chains and signifying colors. Once up and out of that world, that same young kid will most likely change the way he views the importance of being cool.

I was never cool. I was the kid named Melvin who carried a stack of books around, was always humming something classical from orchestra practice, and who wanted desperately to be accepted by the leather jacket crowd. They were known as dirtbags. They were the tough kids who cut class to hang out behind the cafeteria to smoke cigarettes. Being something that I was not was appealing at that age, but once I left high school, I left that misguided desire behind. Those kids no longer seemed cool. They seemed limited.

I grew up speaking with a thick New York accent, but Shakespeare, Noel Coward, Moliere, and Agatha Christie removed any trace of that. I can still speak New York when I want to, mostly when angry or when punctuating a comic line. When I turn on the tv and see some mafia lughead saying “bada bing” and “yous guys,” I file him under the same category as PP Puffy Doggie. Just another uneducated bozo perpetuating an unfortunate stereotype.

What is far more mystifying to me are the young white people who combine ebonics with text speak! I have to laugh when I read something online that is peppered with “gurl” “wuz” “wit” “aight” and other configurations, all appearing like the sound effects a cartoonist might use in his comic strip. What is puzzling is how some of these abbreviated slang words actually require more time and effort to type than their English equivalents!

Take “wuz,” for example. Now “cuz” might at least make some sense, as it saves the typist from the apparently unreasonable labor of spelling out the entire word “because,” but “wuz?” W-a-s takes a fraction of a second to type, as the three letters are touching on the keypad. So, to use “wuz” requires effort and intent. Baffling.

I cannot even begin to explain the girl whose online comments I struggled to decipher the other day. She was using the collection of letters “khan” and “khant.” Your guess is as good as mine, but I think she was attempting “can” and “can’t,” and can only assume she is from a country which does not encourage its citizens to learn English.

Like ours. True dat, indeed.