I find the same pride in Solange’s song “F.U.B.U.,” which is short for “For Us, By Us.” The title is very direct, and so is the song itself.
But none of the other lyrics of that song have ever made me feel as strongly as one line, repeated at various points: “Some sh*t is for us.”
It’s a simple statement, but it has so much meaning behind it. It’s a direct response to so many moments in the lives of people—moments when people do things because they don’t understand why they can’t do them. Even when no one asked them to understand, we just asked them not to do it. Sometimes things shouldn’t be done because they’re just not meant for you.
The summer before college started, a few friends and I decided to take a road trip upstate to drop off our friend Cynthia (yes, the same Cynthia from earlier), who was starting school early.
It was me, Cynthia, my friend and Cynthia’s boyfriend, Carlos (isn’t love grand?), our friend Jamel, our friend Dante, and Dante’s girlfriend, Tabitha. This was our first time meeting Tabitha, and she seemed nice. She was a young Chinese American woman who met Dante while they were both doing an internship for City Hall.
Like us, Dante was from a poor neighborhood in our city, and he went to school with Carlos. Tabitha went to private school and was not from a neighborhood like ours. But one of the things Dante told us he enjoyed about her was that she never made him feel like they were different.
Since he liked her, we liked her, plus, as soon as we met her, she seemed down-to-earth.
The drive up to Cynthia’s school was about four hours one way, so we took Carlos’s dad’s SUV because it could comfortably fit all of us and had an amazing speaker system.
When we got in the truck, each of us pulled out our iPod to show off our music libraries and decide who would get the aux (be the DJ).
This was before the age of car Bluetooth and streaming. To play music, you either needed CDs or you had an iPod that stored music that you downloaded. This was when curating music meant a lot, because even those with iPods that could hold a lot of songs were still limited. So music taste really meant something.
After comparing who had the best music selection, it came down to me versus Tabitha to see who was going to have the aux. She had a ton of great music that was very similar to mine, so we decided to let her have it on the way up, since she was the new one in the group.
The pressure was on. We all took having the aux very seriously (and still do). It’s not just about putting on a playlist; it’s about setting the tone and keeping it. You have to make sure you set the mood and build on that. Everyone has to be consistently happy and excited, or before you know it, your aux privileges are revoked for months.
I’m happy to say that this has never happened to me. Whether it was on an iPod or now on Spotify, I keep a crowd pleased when I have the aux. If you need someone on the aux for your next event, let me know. I do proms, bar/bat mitzvahs, graduation parties—you name it.
Tabitha didn’t fail. She started the road trip strong by playing “Party Like a Rockstar” by the Shop Boyz, which at the time was one of the top songs out. A hit is always a good place to start.
She had the aux for hours, and we heard a mix of everything in that time. Tabitha played new hits and hits we hadn’t heard in years that took us back to elementary school with some 98 Degrees. (I already told you my stance on them.) She was rocking.
We were about three hours into the trip when Dante asked Tabitha, “Where’s the real rap?” Up to that point, Tabitha had played songs from various genres, many of which were top radio hits, though a few weren’t. But when it came to hip-hop and rap, she had played only songs that were on the radio.
She told us she didn’t have a lot of non-radio rap songs, but I did. So she gave the aux to me. After playing a few songs by artists like A Tribe Called Quest, Jadakiss, and Mos Def, I realized she didn’t know many, if any, of the songs.
If you don’t know these artists, go on whatever streaming service you have and get familiar. This was a different era of rap and hip-hop. For additional recommendations, head on to the back of the book, where I’ve listed songs in the Black Friend Playlist.
Tabitha sat silently in the car and smiled as we bounced around and listened to some of the rap we had grown up on and knew by heart. She looked on, as if wishing she could be involved.
After the rest of us had fun and rapped along for a while, I decided to ask Tabitha if there was a rapper or song she liked that was similar to what I was playing. Before she could respond, Dante said, “Dipset or the Game.”
Tabitha responded, “Oh, yeah! All of those guys are cute. I love them.”
Dante responded, “Honestly, she knows more of their music than me. We listen to them in her car and she raps along. Watch.”
So I picked a song that I figured would be perfect, because it had both Dipset and the Game featured on it (it was also a favorite of mine): “Certified Gangstas.”
As the song started, Dante, Jamel, and I rapped along to the Game’s first verse. After the verse, Dante urged Tabitha to rap along. “Watch. Watch. Get ’em, babe!”
Jamel and I stayed silent as the next verse came up so Tabitha could rap along with Jim Jones. She looked at us nervously and then began.
Tabitha rapped along with the swagger of someone performing in front of thousands. We all watched and cheered her on. “Okay! Get ’em, Tabitha!” Jamel yelled.
At a certain point, Jamel and I jumped in to rap as well, because we knew the n-word was coming up in the song and she wouldn’t be able to say it.
Again, white readers, I expect you not to say it, either. Especially as it comes up quite a bit in the rest of the story.
A few moments later, the line happened. Jamel and I looked at each other in surprise and confusion. It wasn’t just the two of us who had said the line. Tabitha said it as well.
As Tabitha continued rapping and Dante hyped her on as if nothing had happened, Cynthia turned the music down.
“What did you just say?” Cynthia asked.
“What do you mean?” Tabitha responded.
“You just said ‘nigga,’” I said.
“So?” Tabitha asked.
Cynthia, Jamel, and I responded at basically the same time.
“The hell?” said Cynthia.
“Oh, nah,” said Jamel.
“Get your girl, Dante,” I said.
“What’s the problem? Dante doesn’t care when I say it, and he’s Black,” Tabitha responded.
We all looked at Dante. Carlos could barely keep his eyes on the road at this point, so he pulled over.
“Dante, you let her say the n-word?” responded Cynthia.
“I mean, yeah. She doesn’t call me a nigger with an ‘er’ or anything. She says it if it’s in a song. That’s not a big deal,” Dante replied.
“It is a big deal,” Jamel said.
“Why? She’s not even white,” Dante argued.
“I’m not white, and neither is Cynthia, but we don’t say it,” Carlos responded.
“But I wouldn’t care if you did,” Dante said.
“I would care if they did, and I’m Black, too,” I said.
“So would I,” Jamel said.