I love who I am. I am the firstborn of my mother with four siblings under me. Strangely enough, when I was young, I didn’t know my Mom was white. She was my normal. She was just Mama. Who taught me how to read and color. She did my hair, though she seem to have a frustrating time doing it, she did it faithfully. She taught me how to cook and we giggled when we talked about boys. She gave me spankings and we had a few laughs. We had good and bad times in our lives; She was still Mama. When I was 8 or 9 years old I didn’t even pay attention that she looked a little different then me. She had Straight Blonde Silk for hair and blue eyes, her skin tanned nicely in the summertime. I have little black slinkies bouncing all over my head with root beer colored eyes and I am naturally tan without the suns help.
I found out that she was White when she visited my school in the second grade. When all the kids caught a glimpse of her they started calling me “White Girl” over and over in full chorus. I wasn’t sure how to take their teasing. I didn’t understand what they meant. I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or bad thing. I went home that day and don’t quite remember much about the conversation that I had with my Mom about it, but I know it’s there in my subconscious influencing me and my views. This was in 1974, On the South Side of Phoenix, Arizona. I know I didn’t mention my Dad, but I didn’t meet him until I was 30 something. For the curious My Dad is a very dark skinned man. He is African American/Black and possibly Cherokee. My Mom’s ethnic background is Irish, Scottish and German. She comes from seven siblings of two girls and five brothers. I have a mass of cousins that are blonde and blue eyes, red hair and green eyes. My mom was the only one of her siblings to have children by someone that looked so much different then she did. So her children stand out at a family reunion. lol