The Black Experience

Dear Ben Carson, 

Shame on you. 

And I say shame on you on behalf of the mixed children being raised in interracial families. I didn't realize that my parents had to give me "the black experience" in order to identify with my heritage. I didn't realize I needed to be raised to fit into a race box. I thought the goal was to just be a good human, or at the very least a functioning adult. 

My whole life I've heard that I'm 'too white','too black', 'not black enough' and even Korean (that's a true story). But now I know based on your experience of "real racism," I should just brush all of that off, because I'm not all black. 

I just didn't realize... 


Full Article: Obama was 'raised white'

The time I was afraid

I've been thinking a lot lately about my home state of Indiana. Recent events have led to the trending of #BoycottIndiana, which breaks my heart. Having many fond childhood memories, I'd like to say that every moment and every person was warm and inclusive. It wasn't always the case, but I had tons of happy memories to offset the few instances of unpleasantness. 

Some of my favorite adventures were had riding the bus downtown to the public library. Nearly everyday in the summers, I'd head down to the library with some neighborhood friends. It was a big milestone, to be riding the bus. I felt like I was on my way to being a grown-up.

One seemingly typical evening, my parents told me that I couldn't go downtown the next day. I'd usually object with some sort of tween-tantrum. But it didn't feel like a punishment. Instead, I sensed the urgency in their command to stay close to home.. 

You see, that next day there was a Klan rally at the downtown courthouse. 

The young version of myself felt frightened. Nightmares of burning crosses kept me housebound all day. While the majority of their concern was probably about the large crowds and congestion downtown, I couldn't help feeling like people might throw rocks at me. Or taunt me for being some sort of an abomination. Or worse.

The Non-Beach Vacation

Maybe it's the slow emergence of spring weather, the March Madness or the college kids outside my window clearly enjoying their thirsty Thursday. Actually, never mind. It's definitely because I've been craving my own vacation lately, that I started to reminisce about past travels. 

"It looks like you just got back from the beach!"

I often heard this after vacations. Despite rarely even going to a sunshine destination. A slap in the face, right? 

There's actually a 70% chance that my destination did not even require sunscreen. Therefore leaving no chance that I gained a noticeable tan. While I was away, did you forget that I'm ethnic? 

A woman's right to tan

I would like to preface this with the statement that I truly do enjoy my gym. The staff is friendly and "my" machine is open 99% of the time. And I'm sure I'll enjoy the parking lot again when all these people give up their resolutions to become super models. 
But once again, I have been hassled about my tanning. After telling the front desk clerk that I'd like to tan, he laughs. Sure it wasn't a full on cackle, but it was a mouth wide open, teeth-baring type of laughter. Then he asks why I tan. Before I can answer he continues with a, "you're as dark as I am." 
At this point, I hope my jaw didn't literally drop. I can't be sure; it was one of those delayed moments. Maybe it only lasted a second, but it felt like a full minute. I mean- this guy is black. Sure it's in like a caramel macchiato kind of way but he's certainly significantly darker than myself. 
Then this got me thinking; maybe I'm darker than I think I am. OR maybe he's lighter than he thinks he is. I wanted to reach my arm across the counter to compare skin tones. But I'm not smooth enough to pull off that kind of maneuver. 

Maybe next time...

The Fairly Tanned

In preparation of my roommate's wedding, I decided to put in some time to bronze my skin. Now I've been tanning at my gym for quite some time. This isn't a regular occurrence, but I'm familiar with the system; I come into the gym. I tell the person behind the counter that I'd like to tan. They look up my information and boom! I'm tanning. 
This day was not so ordinary. After telling the lady that I'd like to tan, she pulls out my tanning information and pauses. She starts to take quick glances between me and the waiver that I usually initial before stepping into the booth. "They started you this high? They shouldn't have done that!" You're probably wondering what that means. Well there's a box in the corner of the form that says Skin Type. My form said brown. This having not been a problem in the other dozen and one times I'd been tanning, I was completely shocked.  
She went on to say how whoever did this could get in trouble, even asking me who "CB" was (These were the initials of the worker). Ummmm, I don't know? There was no appeasing this lady. I admit to tuning out while the rant continued, feeling rather powerless in this situation. I'm snapped back into reality when she says, "you should have been started at Fair Skin." 

Woah! Fair? Come on...

[A little background: Fair is the lowest setting. Think of that vampire chick: Kristen Whatsherface]

Jumping to the defense of the previous worker, I explained that I was mixed. And by no means would anyone consider my skin to be naturally fair. Although apprehensive, she finally let me tan! 

The Binder of Women

Ever wonder which celebrity would play you in a movie? Feeling inspired by my numerous alleged doppelgangers, I've decided to catalog them. Additionally this would prove valuable information given the slim possibility that my life story is ever made into a major motion picture. So let's take a look! 

Page 1: My first doppelganger experience was American Idol contestant, Kimberley Locke. As a teenager, I was near offended at the thought of looking like an adult. 

Page 2: I won't forget about the parade of summer campers that also that I looked like one of the Cheetah Girls. I never did get clarification regarding which Cheetah Girl; so I guess I'll let you decide. 

Page 3: Ironically during my college years, this High School Musical star ruled my doppelganger charts. Even now, I'll get the occasional Vanessa Hudgens reference.

Page 4: The newest doppelganger to my binder is Alice Braga. This is according to the friendly checker at Trader Joe's. 

So there it is! My very own Binder of Women, err... Doppelgangers. Would Romney approve?  


If this were Twitter, I'd include #likeromney. 

The Barbecue

So there was this barbecue. Actually I didn't find out about it until after the event. That's right; this girl was not invited. I couldn't figure out why. 
It made no sense, especially because that annoying girl (let's call her Sara) was invited. My brain was nearing exhaustion, having churned through all the scenarios in which I could have accidentally offended my friend. I mean, come on. We don't even like Sara! [No offense, Sara. But you were a snob and what do you have against sharing your markers? Rude.] 

Finally, I just had to ask the question... Why wasn't I invited? 

"Sorry. I couldn't invite you because my grandparents are racist."

And that's when I became a vegetarian.




... Just Kidding. There were plenty of meat eating years after that.  

The Cheerios Commercial

My work arrival is a practically a set routine; I come in, put away my lunch, make an iced coffee, then I click my web browser to scroll through some MSN headlines. And because I am who I am, I like to take the daily poll. Today's poll focused on the recent mixed-race family in the Cheerios ad. 

[Link to YouTube page]

Cheerios announced that they will not be pulling the ad, despite the controversy. Apparently the YouTube comments were heated with a race debate before they disabled the comments. It's amazing that this is even a debate. Mixed families do exist! For starters, there's my family. Then I have to mention that this is a country where our president is the product of mixed-race parents. 
And last but not least, the Cheerios girl is adorable! Who cares what her parents look like? 

Bravo General Mills! 

The Winery

When you find yourself in a beautiful countryside filled with vines and fine wines, you (obviously) decide to indulge in the wines from the vines. In town for a wedding, my friends and I decided to take a winery tour. Why not? Our tour guide is an older petite lady with short gray hair. It's a fun tour, as she tells us all about their history and tales of the winery's pet cat. After the tour and tasting, we line up to purchase some of our favorite bottles for future consumption.
As I'm browsing the gift shop with some of my gal pals, the tour guide approaches me. It's small talk at first; and we thank her for the tour. The awkward smiling and nodding begins as she's just standing there. Just as I begin my mental panic to brainstorm a new conversation topic, she asks me if I'm Hawaiian. I giggle with my 'no' response, and she begins to tell us how she used to live there and how my complexion was so similar. I tell her how I've been asked that quite a bit, adding that it's a nice compliment.
[Insert more awkward smiling and nodding] Luckily one of my friends has a rescuing segue; she asks our tour guide about her time in Hawaii. This victory was short lived, as more awkward smiling and nodding fills the shop.
My mental panic returns. Can anyone else feel this tension? Why is she still standing here? Can I just tell her thanks again? Do I walk away? What is happening!?

Her glance turns to me once again, more puzzled than ever.... "Are you Samoan?"

To borrow the wise words from Sir Pain of T (also known as T-Pain), I'm just going to blame it on the alcohol.

Panties and Mayonnaise

I have a friend that hates the word panties; actually I have a few. I don't get it. But don't dare talk about the Victoria's Secret Panty Raid sale! Hopefully this conversation isn't happening when you have to ask a waitress to hold the mayonnaise. Because I have another friend that hates that word too. 

By simply uttering one of these words, it's like someone has placed an ice cube down their backs. Cringing and shivering as you're told not to say that word ever again. 

I'm willing to make the sacrifice to eliminate these words from my vocabulary. After all, I have a word that I hate too. I hate the n-word. It sends chills down my spine, and I feel compelled to tell you that I hate it. Dr. Seuss would probably say it like this;

I do not like it in the street.

I do not like it in the heat. 

I also don't like to eat meat. 

Would you like me to repeat?

I guess the moral of the story is that the world would be a better place without panties, mayonnaise and the n-word. 

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.