I too am an American

As America struggles to identify its true children on a global stage, I’d like to take a moment to reflect on my own experience coming of age in the land of the free, home of the brave. My name is a good place to begin—French by way of Haiti plus three disciples: Stephen, John, and Peter. One word, no dash. Deal with that as you will. It may not be immediately apparent but I am also Puerto Rican, although it feels like I’ve been undercover most of my life. Being called a gringo while visiting the island some years back was only confirmation of what I already felt inside, that I too am an American.

English is the only language that I can truly speak fluently, but various Spanish, Haitian Creole and French phrases were used situationally in my childhood home in the predominately white suburbs of New York’s Capital Region. Trips to visit extended family throughout New York City were cultural exposés while school presented the unique challenge of navigating black identity in romantic relationships, classroom dynamics, and athletics. I was more Lil Dicky Professional Rapper or Childish Gambino Camp than the suave Fresh Prince.

You have heard it said, "You're an Oreo."
But I actually think I'm more like a Reese's
Processed, pre-packaged, and pocket-sized
A chocolatey peanut butter twist with ridges all around my circumference who
Looks slightly firm but is pretty soft and
relatively flat on the inside but filled with something sweet
The perfect chilled treat