Daughter of the American Revolution & Slave

If you followed the two sides of my family tree up, up, up to about 160 years ago, here's what you'd find:

On one side, the women were Daughters of the American Revolution. My mother's family - the Coxes - can trace itself back all the way to Bishop Richard Cox of Ely Cathedral in England in the 1500s. After a stop in Ireland in the 1600s, ye olde ancestors finally made it to Virginia in the 1700s. My mother's dad, Granpa Charlie as we knew him, was a Son of the American Revolution. I guess it's not surprising that he temporarily cut my mom off when she married a Black guy. What would the Bishop say?!

On the other side, we've got Billy, the slave. Billy escaped. I don't say he ran away because that sounds cowardly and condemn-able. He escaped, which seems like the smart thing to do when conditions are a lifetime of "12 Years a Slave." Anyway, Billy made his way to Canada, married a nice French-Canadian girl and started a family line where twins and freckles pop up every other generation. Blame Canada.

Many, many generations later, the Bishop and Billy met, in the form of my parents, Sarah and Spencer.

Bishop Cox rocks 16th-century shoulder pads

My great-grandfather, grandfather and dad (the baby) on the family farm

So what do you get when you combine a could-be Daughter of the American Revolution and a coulda-been-a slave?

Me in Morocco

Hypocritical Pride in Being "Mistaken" for Black

Last weekend, at my college reunion, someone who has known me for a long time was shocked to learn that I'm mixed. He thought I was Black, like him and almost everyone else in our homecoming crew. In return, I was shocked to realize that I was...flattered? Proud? Something about his error made me happy. For someone who says being mixed is no big deal, this is embarrassing.

I'd like to say it was the context. I had asked the group if my alma mater's quarterback is Black. A former player said yes and then the caveat was put on it. "Well, Biracial."

Because I've known this person for a while and understand where he comes from, I was able to genuinely laugh and respond, "We count, too!" Shock and confusion ensued. And I was happy. I now knew that, if someone had asked him, before this exchange, if I was Black he wouldn't have equivocated. His answer would have been the same as mine. An absolute yes. And I was sad to know that I had lost that "in-the-club," without-qualification acceptance.

People who know me and my lifestyle even better than this guy put the same equivocation on being mixed. I get sad when I experience it and that's what makes me a hypocrite. I say that being bi- or multiracial is no big deal but the truth is, I experience most of the distresses of any person of color who is sensitive to race and a bit extra I still don't deserve the key to a city or special paperwork, but maybe it's time to accept that there's no shame in being sensitive to other people's deep or shallow biases.

p.s. Yes, I'm still proud of my heritage.

Today I am Latina

Based on outside feedback, this week I'm Latina. Based on genetics, I am not. Confused? You're not alone.

In the past I've talked about group think and the random shifts in how I am perceived, racially. Some days, I'm Black. On those days, I get acknowledging nods from black people on the street. Black people that I interact with, who are strangers, talk to me like we're old friends.

The "Black days" are comfortable because, in large part, that's what I am. But it doesn't matter what I think I am because, when I first meet someone, they interact with me based on what THEY think I am. And for quite a while, everyone agreed I was Black, inside and out.

Lately, I've had to work harder to establish myself as Black. No big struggles, just notable.

This week, I learned why. Apparently, I'm shifting to being Latina. Three proof points:

First, I met a man at the gym. He's from Italy. Cool, I love Italy. He said, "But you're Spanish, right?" Me, "No." Him, "But your name is Serena (it isn't) and you have some Spanish in your face."

Aside from boggling my name and making it sound like I have paella stuck to my cheeks, what does this mean? Thanks to being a mix of European, Native American and African stock, almost any one of my features might be Spanish but they could also be anything else. I chalked it up to my new friend being from Italy and kept moving.

Second, I was talking to my favorite clerk at the grocery store. He asked me what I do for living and I told him I write children's books. "Wow," he says. "Are they bilingual?" Me, "Uh, no, why?" Him, "Oh, they aren't in English and Spanish?" Me, (nervous laughter) "No, I don't speak Spanish." Him, (nervous laughter) "Oh...Ok...Well, it's cool that you're a writer."

This man has been talking to me for two years. I've never spoken Spanish to him and I have a Midwestern accent. I live in a neighborhood that is 80% White and about 20% Asian. I can understand him not thinking I'm the only local Black person, but why go Hispanic? There's no obvious answer. So I chalk it up to group think and the phase of the moon.

Except, THIRD, Yahoo! fed up this M&M ad in Spanish for me. I haven't done anything on Yahoo! to indicate an ability to speak Spanish. So, despite behavior to the contrary, right now, even my technology thinks I'm Latina. It's not bad, but it is weird.

No lesson learned. Just the life of a mixed chick in the U.S. Off to enjoy another day of surprising people with my secret blackness.

Being Mixed Sucks

I say that being mixed is no big deal. I should say, I wish it was no big deal because, in reality, it can be a blessing, a pain, an agony, a tearing of the mind and/or soul.

I'm reading "The Warmth of Other Suns," about the Great Migration of African Americans from the South to just about anywhere else. It focuses on three people, none of whom are significantly mixed, but also tells the story of a mixed family that crushed me. Here's what happened:

A family of mixed people is driving out of the South to California. The people in the car include a grandfather, grandmother, mother and her three children. All of them are very fair skinned with wavy hair except the youngest grandson. He's brown.

There are almost no hotels along the way that take "Colored" people. The grandfather - the only one who drives - is getting tired. He can't drive any more. They stop at a hotel and, according to the story, he self identified as Black and tried to get them a room. No, he is told. No darkies allowed.

They go to the next hotel. This time, he doesn't identify. He just asks if they have a room. Sure, they say, here's your room key. Bring your family in.

Great, except for that pesky brown grandson. They cover him in blankets and carry him in "like a bag of groceries." According to his sister, who told the story, the boy was emotionally scarred by that one event and troubled from that day forward.

Here's what I think: that family often tried to pass or wished out loud that they could pass but couldn't because of this little boy. I think they weren't quiet about it being his "fault" that their lives were harder than needed. I know how that generation was. They were not worried about hurting their kids' feelings. Unlike today's parenting mantra, not everyone was a winner. So it wasn't that one moment during their migration or the cursed South that wrecked this boy. It was his family, who made him feel like a bag of groceries.

Families aren't much different today. Sure, very few people try to pass. Being light skinned or ambiguous is becoming enough to get broadly accepted. So, there's no need to hide the brown son. But how we treat the brown son hasn't changed enough. I have a close acquaintance who has two biracial sons. One is light-skinned with wavy hair. He was allowed to grow it long and now wears it in "cool" corn rows. The other son is brown skinned, has full lips and tight, curly hair. He doesn't look mixed. He looks Black. And, according to his mother, he is the less good looking one.

She said this to me and I know that, across America, other parents are saying or thinking the same thing about their children. That doesn't mean they don't love them. My acquaintance loves both of her sons and also is very vocal about the fact that the brown one is smarter and will probably end up being taller. And thankfully he wasn't around at the time. But the way she said it, like it was fact, makes me believe that it is common talk around their house. So, here he is, going through the most awkward age - 13 with braces, yikes! - and his family has "agreed" that he's not good looking. His 17-year-old, light-skinned brother with his straight teeth (he already had his braces) and long, soft hair is the handsome one.

And this is when being mixed sucks. When everyone says "mixed babies are so cute," they aren't talking about the ones who come out looking White, Asian or Black. They are talking about the ones who have the perfect blend of two groups' characteristics. If you don't have that, you're not as cute. And so, before you're fully formed, it's already been decided. You are less than your siblings. You are less than other mixed people. You don't fit in with a group that is already small and usually without community. And, if you're a color that continues to be discriminated against, you're less than people who you may, actually, be greater than. You're stuffed under the blanket for the rest of your life.

Heartbreak in 2013.

Self Identifying as Biracial with American-colored Glasses

If you're mixed, sometimes other people might not know what you are, racially. They wonder. And the wondering drives them so crazy that the first words they ever speak to you might be, "What are you?" or "Where are you from?" or "Are you mulatto?" The rudeness of the question is proof that their brains are going crazy with curiosity. Humans like to categorize.

Many mixed people try to cut back on the craziness by self identifying as soon as reasonably possible. That isn't always soon enough to prevent the intrusive questions but we do what we can.

However, some biracial people won't self identify for days, weeks, months or ever. A friend recently told me about the teacher of a class she was taking. The class was in the African-American studies program. My friends says the teacher looked Jewish. Some of the Black students were upset that a Jewish woman was teaching them about the Black experience. Half way through the semester, the teacher casually mentioned that she is biracial - Black and White. "Why didn't she say so sooner?" my friend asked. "It was irresponsible."

I wasn't there, so I can't speak to the need for the teacher to have explained her race. Ordinarily, it would be considered odd for a teacher to walk into a class and declare his or her race, creed or sexual preference. In many cases, I know the students would love that. In America, we've got race on the brain. There are times when we don't just want others to identify themselves. We need it.

However, we're a lot less likely to get it from at least one group of biracial folks: foreigners. In other countries, race is not as big a deal as it is here. People care more about religion, economics, heritage, etc. Race is the next level down. A sub-category or a rarity.

For example if you're mixed and from Canada, it might be more important to identify as French-Canadian. The bond of language, location and culture is stronger than color. If you're from Ireland, up until recently, it was much more important to self identify by religion. Being Protestant or Catholic made all the difference in how you were treated and what communities you could be a part of. Think about Bosnia. A few years back, the background of your White parent could have meant life or death. The existence of a Black parent might have meant nothing.

Looking at the global picture without our American-colored glasses helps explain why some biracial folks aren't thinking they need to self identify. At least not from a color perspective.

Losing that color-centric perspective will be part of our journey toward truly being "post-racial." But humans like to categorize. So, if we aren't deciding "you're not like me" based on color, it may be something else - money, weight, politics. For now, I'll keep self identifying when it fits naturally into the conversation, but I'm not buying (or encouraging) a Holocaust-style armband that declares me a "Mixed Chick." You may be curious but life is full of disappointments. You'll get over it. And maybe you'll even learn something along the way.

Cheerios Commercial Shows the New Normal

Kudos to Cheerios. They have a commercial with a mixed family. Unlike a few folks across the U.S., they don't make a big deal out of it. They did a nice job of making sure that we hear the little girl call the White woman mom before pouring a box of Cheerios on her Black dad's chest.

The first time I saw it, I wondered if I understood the situation correctly. Surprising, considering my household looked almost exactly like the one in the commercial for a few years. The second time, I was like, "Cool. And during prime time!"

Mixed couples are not an anomaly. Children of interracial couples are more common than children of gay families. Strangely, on TV, there are a couple shows that have gay parents but, as far as I know, none that have a black parent and a white parent. Nice to see this version of the new normal.

Mixed Kid Problems

-->

Mixed kids’ problems are first-world problems. They aren’t things like “no access to fresh water” or “school is 20 miles away and the bus broke down.” I’m just saying, as a group, we may have our gripes but, in the grand scheme, it could be worse. That said, here's a few, starting from the top:

1. One or both of your parents has no idea what to do with your hair. Everyone knows it’s not right, but no one knows how to fix it.
2. Hats - thanks to our hair, hats are often not our friend. Curls are great, except when they've been mashed down. And, if you're a girl with short curly hair, you will be called a boy when wearing a hat. Trust me, I know.
3. You don’t look like you belong to your father. Out in public, people ask, “Are you ok?” and “Is that strange man (a.k.a. your dad) bothering you?” 
4.  You don’t look like you belong to your mom. After seeing her, the other kids tease you about being adopted or wonder “Is that your babysitter?”
5. Wrinkles…maybe? Most brown-skinned people have thicker skin that wrinkles less. Mixed kids, no matter what their complexion, aren’t guaranteed that anti-wrinkle power.
6. Mixed = Caramel complexion, light eyes or wavy hair (or all of the above). Except we’re not all made that way. Mass disappointment (see bullet 8).
7. Lingering looks that lead to the question, “What are you?” or “Where are you from?” and “But where are your parents from?”
8. Mass exposure to racism. Being racially ambiguous means you’re more likely to hear it all.
9. Disappointing your blind dates. I blame Halle Berry, Lolo Jones, Lenny Kravitz and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson for setting the bar too high!  

If these are the biggest problems you face in life, count yourself lucky. Surviving being mixed doesn't have to be hard. Simply hope you aren’t tender-headed while your parents work out their beautician skills. Fight the right battles and try to let everything else roll off your back. Avoid society’s beauty stereotypes and figure out what’s good about you. And, when preparing for a blind date, tell them you’re mixed, you know... like Malcolm Gladwell.

The Tragic Mulatto Must Die

One of the old stereotypes about people who are biracial is the "tragic mulatto," a person who doesn't fit in because he or she isn't White but isn't really Black. Millions of people who claim to be mixed are living well-balanced lives. Isn't it time for us to declare the tragic mulatto dead?

And yet, the stereotype was recently perpetuated by someone I've called a friend. Ignoring all that she knows about me, this woman told a stranger that the reason why he didn't know me in college is because I'm half black and half white, so I didn't know which way to go.

In my book, being accused of being confused about who I am is just slightly better than being called a sellout and much worse than being mistaken for a race/ethnicity that I'm not. What made the accusation shockingly hateful is that she knows better AND is almost the same complexion as I. And did I mention that the man she said this too is also light skinned?

So, imagine, three very light-skinned Black people standing around and one of them basically points her finger at another and says, "You're different, you don't belong, you have to prove yourself to us." It's ridiculous. Would she challenge our President, who is boldly biracial and happens to be darker than she is, with a similarly cruel statement? What about Frederick Douglas?

I won't honor her comment by detailing how Black I was in college or am now. I will say that it's hard enough when non-Blacks make racist statements to or around me - they think it's ok because I'm light. It's not. But it really cut me to the quick to have a friend and fellow light-skinned African-American put me into that tired old, tragic mulatto box. It was tragically thoughtless in the eyes of this not-tragic (and never mulatto) chick.