On Being Told I Don't Speak Like A Black Person (Story of My Life)

Emphasize the "th" in "brother", 
- it's not pronounced "brudder" - 
is what I learned in elementary school
where my redheaded second grade teacher
fawned over me as if I were her own son.
Trained in Fayetteville, she attempted
to pass on her passion of all things Razorback and 
simultaneously eradicate any semblance of negro dialect
primarily to push an unspoken agenda. 
Even in her forties, she kinda resembled a Juilanne Hough
type, always smiling in her own matronly way.
I somehow speak with more of a midwesterner's tongue
instead of the broken southern negro accent associated with
my neighborhood
my community
my classmates
my friends
my playmates.
Inflections were flattened;
a slightly nasal sound was substituted for the starting singy-songy sentences.
During those days no one told me (to my face) to eliminate that voice
perhaps they were amazed by the newly discovered intellect
and all wanted credit for finally getting me to open my mouth. 
It was only in junior high when I realized I sounded differently; 
thanks, cuzzo, for telling me I sound like a damn white boy.
I was ever so observant, inquisitive to a fault 
that once my a-ha! moment of awareness struck
i didn't sound like anyone black the other guys hung out with.
So here I am, entering a social crisis.
No way I could possibly sound like I was from Wisconsin or Illinois
when the extent of my travels were weekend trips to Texas
and DC in middle school. 
What others laughed at me about
besides my infamous red Urkel glasses
besides not having a negro sound
besides my limited athletic skill/ability
(remember, I was an intellectual heavyweight in the making)
besides the perfect fit levis that showed how much smaller
i was relative to everyone else
was how clueless I was in matters of the larger world. 
Suddenly, the summertime gangsters and rising hoops stars
jeered me as an oreo, a sellout.
I didn't want to be white, I just wanted to be accepted.
Then i knew black wasn't it for me. They knew
what black people sounded like from the movies
and in living color
and rap music
and I wasn't it. 
Am I supposed to break cardinal grammar rules, slur
my tongue as if it were tied up by shock tarts and twizzlers> or 
better yet, novacaine from the medicine cabinet?
Oh, I'm supposed to drop syllables, leave
fragmented words hanging from a cliff
were certain terms, phrases too proper
too academic, too articulate for someone who looked like me?
Exasperated, I inquired "what do you mean?" only  to
receive derisive laughs toward me.
you're such a white boy
you need to quit being a scary nerd
you should learn some, you know, Black English.
Does everyone in your family
speak alike? no offense to you or anything.
you're different. you're not black
like us.
did you grow up someplace else?
nothing means more to a person than 
his speech, so why shall I defend my tone?
Simply listen, prize the varying voices which differ
night from day without assuming
how any person will sound
until his mouth opens
until her mouth opens
until their silence shatters through
greetings in any language.