The Shopping Boys

Usually I find Christmas shopping to be loads of fun. But today my enjoyment was clouded with annoyance. 

I realize that Marshalls tends to attract a variety of shoppers. For example, there's me: the young adult female that refuses to pay full price for anything. Then there's your average high school student on a budget. These are my offenders. 

Now I'm going to assume that these two boys were shopping for their girlfriends or perhaps a sister. But here's what I overheard; 

Boy One: So you know how people call white people that wanna be black, wiggers?

Boy Two: Yeah. What is that? I wonder what you'd call a black person that wants to be white.

Boy One: Black. 

As they both laugh, I look up and catch the glance of a middle-aged man with his young son. We shared a look of mutual annoyance. I just wanted to tell those boys to step away from the wristlets. Cynthia Rowley is too good for your girlfriend... and/or sister! 

Who is Black in America?

It seems that this is going to be a very interesting documentary about colorism; who gets to identify themselves as black? Is it the paper bag test? Why should we even let color define who we are? 

Can't wait to watch. 

The Black Woman

I was enjoying an afternoon drive with Sweet Caroline when I saw a BLK WMN parked on the street. You're probably thinking, "Who is Sweet Caroline?'' and "Why are you referring to the black woman as a BLK WMN?" Sweet Caroline is my sweet ride. I named her Sweet Caroline because she's a sparkling Carolina blue. The BLK WMN is not a black woman; it's a car. Specifically the BLK WMN is the license plate.
Let me give you a visual...

I was initially shocked, because I was taught that your car should not identify you as a female in case of sexual assault. (Maybe a little too overprotective.) But then I could not stop thinking about what I would put on my license plate if I were going to identify myself.
So I put together some options...

The Black Joke

My friend has introduced me to this twitter account of anti-funny jokes. I am completely addicted. But I tend to be a big fan of the unconventional. Originally I wanted to tell a pizza joke, but I thought it might be too cheesy. So have a giggle at this one as a piece offering. 

Never mind that blackberries actually grow on bushes... 

Society's Child

Leaving California I was obviously sad to say goodbye to the great weather. But the highlight of my return trip was Delta's in-flight trivia game. Who wrote the song "Society's Child" about an interracial romance? I'd actually never heard it, but I was eager to give it a listen. Janis Ian was only 13 years old when she wrote this song! Such a powerful message for such a young mind. 

 

One of these days, I'm gonna to stop my listening.

Gonna raise my head up high. 

One of these days, I'm gonna raise up my glistening wings and fly. 

But that day will have to wait for a while. 

Baby, I'm only society's child. 

Who hates naps?

The Birthday Boy

I went with some friends to see The Shins in concert. I'll let you decide whether or not that piece of information is significant. But in either case, after the show my friend suggested we go to the bar next door for his friend's 21st birthday. Who doesn't love birthdays? So we went to the bar and fun commenced. 

Who wants to play a game?

That may not have been the exact question posed , but it was something to that effect. The game of Can you guess Natasha's race? began. I shot down the first guess of Colombian. (But I am flattered to be among such company as Shakira.) Then the wide-eyed birthday boy points at me, like a young and drunk Uncle Sam. "I'm from L.A. You're Hispanic!" 

Wrong again... 

The Girl Saga Continues

Saw this today and thought of The Girl... It seemed appropriate to share! 

The Girl

There are people that come and go from your life so quickly that you don't know how to react. You blink and they're gone. This girl did just that. 

Walking through the mall, I notice a little girl tugging at her mom's arm. She says "Mom, look! I can practice my Spanish." The girl runs up to me, plants her feet, gives me a smile and waves. "¡Hola!" Before I could even return the greeting, her blonde ringlets were already bouncing away. 

The Black Side

I walked up to the counter at work to grab my tea. When I reached out my hand, my coworker instead gives me a stack of papers. I respond with "I was actually going for my drink, but I'll take these too." We have a laugh. Then she said "Don't get offended, but..." 

Now when someone starts a conversation with "Don't get offended, but..." I'm always nervous the second half is going to be "Did you shower today?" or "Do you own a hairbrush?" Instead the question portion was "Are you mixed?"

I confirm that I am mixed. "Black and white?" I nod yes. Then she said, "I knew it! Because sometimes your black side comes out. I've only seen it twice, but I could tell."

I give a giggle, an "Oh, you're funny." Then I go about my day. 

Then I began to wonder if my "black side" she was referring to was my sense of humor or that I was thirsty. 

Mythbusters

Fun Fact Friday

Did you know that Alicia Keys is another member of the mixed girl club? Her white mother and black father gave Alicia her unique complexion. It's obvious that she finds her mixed heritage to be a blessing. 

The Panda

Licorice Hair

The day before a haircut can be stressful. This nervousness from a coworker stemmed another hair-related conversation. Talk moves from favorite salons, shampoo products to the benefits of curly hair v. straight hair. I mention that my hair is naturally curly but I often wear it straight, because it's easier to manage. One lady in our talking circle says how I'm lucky to have options. I acknowledge that I love the flexibility- not to brag!

Another lady chimes into the conversation; she asks, "But aren't you mixed?" I nod, yes. "So do you think you have N-word-ish hair?" [She did not say N-Word. She said the other word and added -ish to the end. So it rhymed with licorice. So use your imagination.] Thinking that she literally asked if I had licorice hair, I say "What? licorice?" She repeats her offensive statement, adding "you know... like nappy hair?" 

"Well it gets tangled when I wear it curly..."

The Swimmers

FOUND THIS TODAY!

The Nuns from Indiana

I preface this by saying that I love seniors. 

I was working with a group of senior volunteers. Being the newbie, I was participating in some small talk with a few of the seniors. One of the typical first questions asked; Where are you from? I respond, telling them I recently moved here from Indiana. The senior responds, "Oh you don't have much of an accent." Somewhat confused, I shrugged. "I guess not."
The senior continues to tell me that it was quite a coincidence, because their parish has a group of nuns visiting from there. I learned earlier in the afternoon that these nuns were actually from India. [Not to be confused with Indiana. These locations are quite geographically different.] I politely tell him that I'm actually from Indiana. He offers me a blank stare before insisting that it would be nice for them to speak with someone from the same background. 

Yes, I'm sure that would be nice. 

Fun Fact Friday

Today's Fun Fact Friday has an Olympic theme. 
Most people following Apolo Anton Ohno are also familiar with his Japanese father, Yuki. But he has a Caucasian-American mother! Jerri Lee has not been in the picture since their divorce when Apolo was an infant. [SI]


So it looks like being mixed is my connection to Olympic gold. I'll take what I can get! 

The Hairy Situation

One of coworkers approached me yesterday. And I knew it was going to be interesting, because she led with "This might be out of left field, but can I ask you something?" I firmly believe that the best conversations start with mentions of left field. So I welcomed her question. 
She begins to talk about how she's having a tough time finding hair products for her daughter. She rambles about her daughter's curly hair and how this is because her daughter has biracial hair. Then she points at me and says "You're biracial, right?" I nod. Next thing I know, she reaches over and pets my head. (Yes, she pet me!) "Oh yeah, her hair feels just like yours."


After my shy laugh, I give her all the details of my hair care routine. This was not the first conversation regarding personal grooming. But I was not at all prepared for a petting! 

Fun Fact Friday

Now introducing Fun Fact Friday! 


I wanted to share some information about famous (or maybe infamous) biracial individuals. And I'm going to kick things off with Bob Marley! 
Did you know that Bob Marley was the product of  a black woman and a white British man? His parents were Cedella Booker & Captain Norval Marley, a Naval officer stationed in Jamaica. [5 Facts]

The Mexican Tourist

It is not uncommon for someone to approach me speaking a foreign language. Typically they just apologize and go about their day. But then there are others. 


I was standing at an intersection, just waiting to cross the street, when a man approaches me speaking Spanish. He's the typical tourist, holding a Visitor's Guide while his teenage daughter looks annoyed and younger son looks fascinated by every moving thing. Having only taken a semester of Spanish in the 7th grade, I muster up "no hablo spanish." Yes, I realize I should have said Español. But I was tired and like I said, I don't speak the language.


He laughed at me and said "No Spanish? What kind of Mexican are you?"


"I'm not..."

Baby Talk

I wish I had a dollar for every time someone told me that I would have cute babies. It is usually followed by some phrasing of how mixed babies are cute. There's an issue with the whole "mixed babies are cute" statement. Are they saying that singular race babies are not cute? But I'm not offended. Personally I feel that all babies kind of look like little alien heads until about 6 months. 


But let's face it; the people that feel the need to comment about my possible future children are probably the same people that think all babies are cute. 

Speaking of Wimbledon...

Towards the end of the school year, it seems teachers struggle with lesson plans to occupy the school day. This was the case in 7th grade. Our teacher put us into small groups and we were to discuss our summer plans. One girl talks about how she is excited about going to tennis camp. Collectively the group begins a conversation about tennis; how we all had played at some point, except one anti-social boy. Then the girl going to Tennis camp asks the group if anyone played on any club teams. After varied responses, I say no and how I just played with my dad. 


"Isn't your dad black?"

"Yes... "


Her confused look quickly turns into embarrassment. She apologizes and mumbles something about not realizing. Being that age, the conversation quickly moves along... Short attention spans and all. 

Greetings from Cold Bay, Alaska

There's this guy I know from Cold Bay, Alaska. That's a lie. But that's what he used to tell people. And even though they would ask questions about the population, location or whatever; he always knew the answer. At least he always responded with the confidence that could only come from knowing the answer. 


Because people often ask me where I'm from... I've been thinking that my complexion has obviously given me the gift of mystery. I could literally pick a spot on the map, and you would probably believe me. Colombia, perhaps? That would put me in the company of Shakira... And Pablo Escobar (but let's focus on Shakira). Hawaii is always popular among the inquiring minds as well. 


So maybe this weekend I should choose a destination and fascinate some strangers. 

Any suggestions?

The Coworker

Job training can be an exciting thing. It can also mean spending a whole week in a box with only one other person. So when my trainer finally gave me some alone time, I welcomed the intruding coworker. The conversation was standard enough... The same old How are you? What's your name? 


So where are you from?
I explained that I was born and raised in Indiana before moving to Saint Louis. 


You don't look like you're from Indiana. 


So where are your parents from?


Then it hits me; this isn't about getting to know me at all. I offer up the answer, telling him that they were both born on the east coast. I refused to offer him any satisfaction. 



Next he gave a quiet sigh with a partial eye roll. "Nice to meet you," as he turned and walked out the door. 

The Student Teacher

Let's call him Mr. W. 

It was a history lesson about the Civil Rights Movement. In an attempt to illustrate segregation, Mr W began to point out all the minority students. He explained that if we relocated our classroom to the 1950's, then everyone he had just pointed to would not be allowed in the classroom. A hand shoots up, and one student poses a question. 

Pointing at me, the student asks "What about her?" Mr. W, obviously confused, asked what the student meant. There's a quick reply. "Because she's mixed." 

Mr. W finally gave a response, "she's light enough to pass." 

There's a mild roar of objections and grumbling before Mr. W can settle down the classroom. 

I stare down at my desk, waiting for the awkward moment to fade. 

The Call

There are some that seem to think that you can distinguish a person's ethnicity by their manner of speech. While there might be some vocal cues; it's obviously not a fair or accurate gauge.


For Example:
It was a typical day at work, returning phone calls of the inquiring minds. A child answers the phone, and I ask to speak with Lady Anonymous. (Obviously not her real name, but 1. I don't remember and 2. It's not relevant.)
The kid doesn't bother to put me on hold or mute the phone because I heard him shout, "Mom, there's a white lady on the phone." 

The Job Application

When you are 16 and seeking employment, you will have to do the inevitable; fill out a job application. Undoubtedly this is probably one of the first times that a person will complete any sort of paperwork alone. I was pretty excited about the whole process, earning money that wasn't based on chores or report cards. 
I first applied at a tire shop. I know it seems like a strange place for a teenage girl to want to work. But Fast & the Furious had just come out, and I thought I'd meet a Paul Walker lookalike. Despite the assortment of ordinary people in the lobby, I sat down to complete my first job application. Name, phone number, address, gender, race... Not sure which box to check, I skipped ahead and finished the rest of the application. Then I decided to ask the woman behind the counter. 
"All done?" she asked. 
I explained my confusion about the race question, probably gave her too much information. But clearly she was the expert; after all she had a job. "So what should I do?"
Her confused look made me believe that she had given this a lot of thought. 
"I would check Pacific Islander since that matches your skin tone."


Right. I pretend to check a box, hand her the application and walk away. 

The Birth of Blirish

Thanks to Tiger Woods for calling himself "Cablinasian" (for Caucasian, black, American Indian and Asian), I felt the need to create my own race-label. It was then I developed Blirish, a hybrid of black and Irish. Why Blirish? Easy. Because Blite and Whack were quickly vetoed. 

I realize you may not know much about the Blirish community. Don't worry; I created a chart to better educate the general public.

Home Is Where Your Race Is?

I saw this article the other day about a study regarding residential segregation from the University of Washington in Seattle. [Reuters: Residential Segregation]


Personally I like to identify neighborhoods by their amenities. For example, I like that my neighborhood is historic. Walking down the brick sidewalks, I can imagine the times when horses were the primary mode of transportation. But I also like that a car isn't necessary. I can walk to the following attractions; a farmer's market, a park, a brewery, a convenient store and several restaurant/bar options. For all these reasons, I hope my neighborhood says more about me than whether I'm white, black or something in between. 


What does your neighborhood say about you?

The German

In 10th grade, one of my friends hosted a foreign exchange student from Germany. In an effort to expose her to typical American teenage life, we took her to the mall. This wasn't just any mall. We were going to drive the 100 miles to the impressive Woodfield Mall in the Chicago suburbs.


We file into my friend's family van, with her dad as our chauffeur and hit the toll road! Clearly all of my friends had been struck with some sort of motion-induced narcolepsy, because I found myself wide awake along with The German. Just as my mind begins to race about what conversation topics I'm going to use to occupy the remaining 90 miles, she asks if she can ask me a question. Phew! What a relief. "Sure," I said. Then the German asks "Why do you look different from all of your friends?"
First I'm puzzled because we don't look alike for several reasons... But then she continues, adding "you know, your skin..."


I explain about being biracial and pray that the Chicago skyline will come soon to distract her from asking anymore questions.

The day I learned the meaning of stereotype...

In my elementary school only the 6th graders were allowed to be cheerleaders. Being impatient to start my dance career, in 5th grade I decided to join the Pom Squad. Coincidentally all the 5th grade girls on the squad were black. Of course, this excluded me. 

The time comes for our first performance, sharing the halftime show with the cheerleaders at the big game. It was actually just a regular basketball game, but I'm from Indiana. Therefore all the games are important. So we're getting ready with the cheerleaders in the cafeteria, when a few of the 6th grade girls come over and ask to see some of our routine. A few of us do the intro and the 6th grade girls seem impressed. Then the tallest 6th grader looks at me with a puzzled look. "Are you half black?" I nod my head to say yes. Then she replied. "That explains why you can dance."

From the beginning...

This is as much of the beginning as I can remember... Here is the moment I realized that I was different. 
I had two close friends in my neighborhood. Often our parents called us the Three Stooges, because we were practically inseparable. So here's the A-ha! moment. Third Grade. It was one of the many days we would walk to the park, probably to feed the ducks. Then here comes a high school boy walking towards us. At least I assume he was in high school, because back then I also thought that being 20 meant you were older than dirt. Just as well. In passing he speaks, "look at that; chocolate, vanilla and butterscotch." 


And there it is. This probably explains my disdain for butterscotch. 

Introduction to When In Mixed Company

Growing up biracial has some advantages... The compliments about my effortless year-round tan and naturally curly hair are the most frequent side effects. But then there are the days when I get assaulted with questions. I'm not sure why strangers feel the urge to know my race. I assume because some people feel lost without labels. Usually they seem relieved to know my racial identity, like it were a game of Clue. But instead of Mrs. White in the Conservatory with the candlestick, they open the envelope to see mixed, biracial or milano. 




So here it goes. Don't worry; I'll start from the beginning.