There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk about that was one of the reasons I left Texas.
See, I grew up in Florida, where a lot of people come from different places… To put it in short, we’re pretty diverse. The first time I ever left home I went to NY (again.. diverse.)
Now plant yourself in southern Texas. Here, if you’re Hispanic, 2/3 times you’re already assumed to be Mexican. Seeing a black person at my school was a rare sight. And me, coming from a diverse background myself… well let me tell you how it was.
When you grow up around diversity, you’re used to seeing people that are different from you. If you’re different, you have culture and that makes you interesting. Diversity was a plus not a minus. Ultimately, it didn’t matter to me where you were from, the way you talked, or the color of your skin. All that matter to me was that you were open willing to try different foods and accept people who were just as different as you. At least that’s how I grew up.
But now fast forward about a decade, and I’m attending college in Texas. All of my coworkers are white. Over 80% of the people I saw at school were white and those who weren’t didn’t stay there for long. As a result, most of my friends ended up being white and all of my roommates ended up being white. But, I didn’t see a problem. I grew up accepting people for their personalities not because of their color.
It wasn’t until I was sitting down at some random dock, listening to some spoiled drunk white kid blabbering about how he should put up a sign at his slip saying “Whites only, No Colors Allowed” that I realized there was a problem.
When confronted, everything quickly goes to a “I was just kidding.” This kid even had audacity to say “I didn’t know she wasn’t white.” Yes, it was night time so…. No! the hell does it matter if you knew or didn’t know. Some things you just don’t “kid about” kids.
This happened about a year ago and I was 23 years old at the time. I had NEVER ever experienced anything like this back home.
After it happened I not only felt disgusted with the situation, but I felt a little disgusted with myself. Why? Because I walked away instead of pushing that kid off the dock. Okay, kidding… not because of that. I felt like this because I felt like I was “assimilating.”
I come from a mixed background… I remember once when I was young filing an application and asking my father what should I put under “race.” Should I mark “white?” Or “black?” At this point I was still too young too comprehend that I could chose both but.. my father told me to put “white.” I did as he said but it felt wrong. At some point I learned that I could put both and went back and changed it. But why did my father tell me to put “white?” My father was darker skinned than I was… Would he have chosen the same for himself? I just didn’t understand.
I never saw myself as just hispanic. I never saw myself as just black. And I definitely did not see myself as just white. I always considered myself to be all of them. As a child I always considered myself fortunate to be blessed with so much culture. Now why as an adult would I come to question this?
In middle school two of my best friends were black. It doesn’t matter who your friends are… you hang around people enough and you pick up others’ habits.. Could be the way they talk, dress, etc. On top of that we were children, who most often than not are easily influenced as compared to adults. So, one day as we were walking out of the gymnasium together I heard one of my friends say to the other “She thinks she’s black.” I assumed she said this because of the way I talked.
From that moment on is when I started to question how others saw me in regards to race. Did I have really hit the lotto for being culturally diverse? But I’m technically part black… so do I tell them that or what?
I don’t remember what went down after that. I don’t remember if I told them or not but I do remember changing the way I talked… All of a sudden, I became interested in how to talk “proper.” Whatever that was… and only talked how I felt comfortable around family and people I felt were “cool.”
As of today it is still something that I struggle with. You can’t “talk” the same way around everyone. And sometimes I feel like I’m hiding the “real me.” Sometimes, I feel like I have different “personas” that all come together to form me. What does it really come down to?
If you see a picture of my mother, she was a white-skinned freckled woman with green eyes and wavy brown hair (who dyed it blonde.) If you see a picture of my father, you see a darker skinned man with kinky hair and Morgan Freeman freckles (yes, I know it’s called papulosa nigra) which I inherited. So when it comes to “color” yet again, I’m mixed.
The sense of self is an intangible thing. But as I see the racial injustice in America, I think those are not things that exclude me. It doesn’t matter if most people think I’m Asian (trust me, I get that A LOT.) It doesn’t matter if I put down only “white” on that application. Or if that racist asshole on the dock really “didn’t know” that I wasn’t white. I’m “colored” in America.
I’m treated differently. I’m considered differently. Shit, I’m just different. It’s something that I have to hold on to everyday. Something not everybody will understand. Something to keep me in check when I feel like I’m “assimilating.”
Because I was made to be different, not to blend in.
I shouldn’t have to feel conflicted about it.
Best Regards,
Your Neighborhood Motherless Child
A Cup of Tea with a Motherless Child 