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.
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