Recently there has been an issue on my heart that I'm never really ever sure how to address. It's 1:30 in the morning and I made the mistake of taking my migraine medicine and coffee at the same time, so of course I'm wide awake and my brain is racing. I've been kind of avoiding writing lately because I want to make sure that what I write is purposeful and meaningful. I've had quite a few topics dropped in my spirit and they will all flourish, but since it's the middle of the night and this is a sensitive topic, I'll start here and "whisper" drop this on my blog/social media feed.
Race and Love.
As a "racially ambiguous" woman I have had some difficulty finding a place or culture to belong to. Recently when people meet me it is immediately assumed that I am half black, others say Hispanic, Indian, the list goes on. Very rarely does anyone ever get it correct. I've grown up getting used to the question, "What are you anyway?" Eventually my sarcastic wit took over and my answer became, "Human." The issue of race and culture has taken on a new life for me because as I've gotten older I have become more aware of the social stigma that comes with racial divides. Even in my marriage (to a black man), he admitted that if I WAS black we wouldn't have conversations about race and ironically the racial conversations we did have were initiated by ME. I was slightly disturbed that as a black man in America (raising a young black boy), he didn't acknowledge his own struggles in the white suburbia where we resided. Was I making a mountain out of a mole hill or was it that I didn't have the right to discuss these racial issues? It was something that confused and bewildered me then and even now. How do I raise a young black boy as a single mother who is not black? How do I explain to him that there are people who will classify and segregate him because of his shade of black? And how do I address these issues with him if his father will not? The same questions can be said for my daughter. She's been asking me why our skin is different shades of brown or why my hair is straight and hers is curly. She yearns for my straight hair and I want her curly locks. I tell her she's beautiful all the time because I never want her to think that because her mom is lighter with longer hair that I am the definition of beauty. If it were up to me, she would be the new definition of all that is perfect.
Then we enter into the widely accepted or not accepted world of love and race. Growing up on a military base, I wasn't exposed to race issues. We were either military or civilian. THAT was our stigma. When I moved to Kansas City I started to notice certain looks from mainly black women when I was with my (ex)husband. Multiple times I overheard bathroom conversations about my "swirl" kids or how I "must have stolen my man." For some reason I was the homewrecker in the eyes of some women and I didn't understand the concept until I realized that I was in a love relationship that couldn't be hash-tagged as #BlackLove. Regardless of how beautiful I feel love is, or how supportive I am of unity in black love, that wasn't who I was when these women saw me. Recently in a restaurant with my current love (also a black man) I saw it again. The look of disdain and disapproval. I discussed with my partner what that look meant to me and how I wasn't "allowed" to have the conversation regarding it because of my race. There's a stigma that I carry, a guilt that maybe I shouldn't be loving who I am because someone disapproves of it and that look enhances that guilt and hurts. I feel like I am in a black love relationship because I love my man and my children and my family, all of whom are black. But because I am not, I cannot be a part of that love unity.
Yes, the relationship I am in is highly supported. My marriage to a black man was supported and that support had to be enough to make me stay quiet about my own pains and confusion about my race/culture and where I could belong. I've been given "the pass" by ALL of my friends. Some even mention forgetting that I'm not black because of the fact that I am so flawlessly ambiguous. At the same time, I still have difficulty being able to connect with certain conversations because when it comes down to it, I'm not black so there are certain inherent claims I have no right to and I know this. When and where is it acceptable for me to be able to talk about my identity when there is no one who identifies as me or my race? My children are TRIracial. How do I teach them about ALL of who they are?
I suppose this post is more questions than answers, but that's where discussions usually start. Statements that question social norms and beliefs. I definitely don't have the answers to these questions and who knows if there really is an answer out there. At the end of the day I'm just a woman in love raising babies that are just as racially ambiguous as their mama.
