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I’m white, my family is mixed.

Kristin Weaver Tlili,
Bangor, ME

My sons are a beautiful combination of Ohio and North Africa living in New England. I never wanted to have to define their race as I wasn’t sure how to correctly capture the beauty of their heritage. There wasn’t a box to check for them on the pre-k enrollment form. I have always wanted to protect them from what I saw and experienced growing up in Ohio, then moving to Boston. My parents raised us in a Catholic but liberal household with values of taking care of people, loving the person for who they are, and making the world a better place. As a teacher in Cincinnati Public Schools in the 1990’s I learned a lot about racism and it’s impact. I wanted to give my students the opportunities I had. Now as a school counselor in Maine and the mom of 2 adult men, I hope to continue to learn from the experiences of others.

My race does not define me

Kristin Koby,
Palm Bay, FL.

I was put up for adoption before I was even born. A loving white family of 7 took me in and treated me, a mixed race infant, as their own. They soon after adopted a black child so that I could have a sibling my age to grow up with – they were always thinking about what was best for all of us kids…I’m a very lucky person. I’d like to say I’m sorry to all of my family for everything they endured because of adopting me and my brother. I’m sorry that both of my parents families disowned them. The last thing my dad said to his family after they told him that I would never be one of them, was “Get the f*ck out of my house”. I’m sorry the catholic church shunned them and kicked us all out. My very religious parents never stepped foot in a church again because they felt so betrayed. I’m sorry for the big black cars that sat outside our home watching us. I’m sorry for the crosses that were burned in our yard. I’m sorry for all the eyes that turned our way in disbelief and disgust. But I’d also like to say thank you. Thank you for bringing me into a fantastic family. Thank you to my dad’s brother and very Irish mother who stuck by my dad and his decisions. Thank you to my sisters who took me to show and tell. Thank you to my brothers who always joked, “you know, we can always return you if you don’t stop crying” – that would always make me laugh. Thank you to the one pastor from the church that gave us the boot who baptized me in a warehouse and wrote a caring letter to me that I still have to this day. Thank you family for making sure I knew how much you loved me and how special I am. Thank you for pushing me to be the best I can be. Thank you for teaching me that race is not important. Thank you for loving me for me and giving me a chance to grow up in a loving, caring family environment.

Every Race Has Been A Slave

Jimmy Naughton
Colorado Springs, CO

Why does any race deserve restitution for their hardships? Every race has been enslaved, yet today’s discussions only ever focus on the Atlantic Slave Trade, i.e., the black slave. Hell, the Irish slaves were more plentiful in the English Empire, they were cheaper and treated far worse since they were Catholic, no thanks to Oliver Cromwell. If you go back far enough in history, you can find the dark pasts of every civilization and of every group of people. People of all races and all backgrounds will never be able to achieve peace if all they ever do is focus on the past and demand restitution for ancestors that are long dead from “perpetrators” who are also long dead. My family, both adopted and biological, come from all over Europe. I have blood from Germany, England, France, Czechoslovakia, Ireland, Poland, Italy, Romania, Serbia, and Ukraine. My ancestors came to America on a boat in 1915, when German and Hungarian forces invaded their village in Serbia during WWI, Serbia having been part of the Allied Forces. But you don’t see me at the German Embassy demanding restitution for the hardships that my family went through. Some of my ancestors were kidnapped, enslaved, and murdered by Barbary Pirates, yet you don’t see me demanding restitution from Muslims and North Africans? You see me focusing on the present and the future, using the opportunities given to me by my ancestors to succeed today, as well as continuing to see people’s character and not their color.

Whitefish Bay white school white Church

Mark Brandfass.
Pittsburgh, PA.

In the summer of ’63 my family had just moved to Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin. My father was a salesman for Westinghouse Electric and we moved as his work demanded. I would be entering the diocesan Catholic seminary the next year, my brothers and sisters attended the local Catholic schools. I don’t remember ever seeing anything else but white people in school and in church.

Being biracial and adopted is complicated

IMG_4606Lauren Juanita Hines,
Alexandria, VA.

I am the American melting pot personified: born to a Mexican father and Caucasian (white, mostly Irish) mother, raised by a Lebanese mother and a German-Irish father. I remember weddings as a child where we all danced the Middle Easter dabke. Cousins on the other side of the family won awards for Irish dancing. Now my Mexican family blows up my phone with renditions of Mañanitas on my birthday. It’s a huge family: Catholic on all sides.

White = Christian, I’m not, I’m Jewish

Janice Cagan-Teuber,
Arlington, MA

To me, “White” has always meant “Christian”. I grew up in a neighborhood that was 99.9% Catholic. We were the only Jewish family around. I was constantly harassed by the neighbor children because I was Jewish. Yes, I look “White” but I don’t identify as “White”. I know I have the privilege of Whiteness, but still don’t feel it.

You’re Indian AND Catholic?! No way!

Josie H
Australia

I am a Catholic Indian.

The middle school I went to was not Catholic, and when I graduated into high school (which was Catholic), I ended up in the top Religion class, getting 80% + in all my tests. One day,a boy asked me disbelievingly, “You went to a non-Catholic primary school? You’re Indian? And you’re in the top class for Religion?”

For your information, I did answer in the positive for his questions, and they also made me edgy. I didn’t really mind his comment about my primary school, but it was the “you’re Indian?” question which really did it for me. It seemed as if in his eyes, an Indian cannot be Catholic. This is the kind of ignorance that promotes racism (and makes me feel like I want to punch someone).

I have a message for everyone and I really hope you share it.

Someone from Pakistan can be a Sikh.

Someone from Italy can be Hindu.

Someone from Africa can be Jewish.

Anyone can be whatever religion they wish. So stop judging others, and assuming everything about them.

God painted the world in color

Cassidy Capoferri,
Wayne State,
Macomb, MI

Growing up Catholic and in Catholic schools, we were always taught that God loves everyone, no matter what. He created all people equally. It was so simple when I was younger, but the older I get, the more I see people ignoring this. It doesn’t matter what religion you’re part of, if you put your faith in God or Buddha, or if you believe in anything at all. What people should agree on is the fact that the world looks a whole lot better in color.

Terrified, we watched them set fires

Sarah Martinez-Helfman,
Philadelphia, PA

Every key decision I made in my life seems to go back to that defining moment, when I walked away from a racist joke. That triggered years of violence from my neighbors. Marybeth beat me with the stick of a rake and chipped my tailbone of which I’m reminded every time I sit for too long. Eric shot bb’s at me through my bedroom window. Several of my classmates pressed me up against the school lockers as they shouted, “It’s the kike’s birthday” down the halls. I lost my friends and my sense of safety. But it was the fires that stand-out in memory. Each night, my brother and I would sit in the dark at my parent’s bedroom window with a view of the driveway and front yard. There we would wait in silence for our neighbors to set fires or to paint swastickas on the garage door just below us. I would later come to learn that the kindling for these fires was stoked by my Mom’s organizing during the McGovern Presidential campaign. African Americans would regularly come to our home in the all-White Pittsburgh suburbs, where most of our neighbors were Irish Catholic. When neighbors called a meeting to ask my Mom whether she would ever sell her house to an African American family, (she said, “yes”), the embers got hotter and sparks flew. I was attacked for what made me different – being Jewish – but it was really born of racism. It was a couple of years later, after I ran away from that joke, that the fires visited us regularly. The first one, on the night of that joke, burned our yard sign for county commissioner into the shape of a cross. It got worse from there.

Now I carry that fire — for racial justice — within me. I have dedicated my life to race equity and inclusion, a life full of purpose that I wouldn’t trade it with anyone.

(I tried to upload a photo from when I was in 5th grade, age 11yrs., wearing a McGovern pin. It is a 77KB JPG format but would not upload)

White privileged with a blended family

Anonymous,
Saint Paul, MN.

I grew up northern CA in a very middle class well to do with family that was racially homogeneous with a strong catholic upbringing. Some years after my dad passed away, my mom remarried to an Asian American man who had three children of his own- our families merged – my brother, mom and I joined with them and experienced the cultural customs including food, family past times, historical narratives from family members with lived experience, and a racially diverse upbringing through my teen and young adult years. This for me was how began to come aware of how the way I looked played a role in the way I was treated and thought of in my community, and society as a whole. My stepdad would constantly remind me “you’re privileged” but never mentioned my complexion- he instead would say “my kids are color blind.” I would often think about what the heck this meant within the context of my personal experiences, and how someone who never even got a chance to know his dad before he died, and grew up in a single-parent family wehere grandparents would constantly have to pitch in was considered privileged. About five years ago, I met my partner and we began dating. She is first generation Mexican American- and her parents immigrated her from a border town in Mexico in the 1980s so she could be born here and experience a higher standard of living. We soon took our relationship to the next level, fell in love and had a kid while finishing our degrees. After spending significant amount of time with her family and learning the Spanish language, cultural customs, and taking trips to Mexico, the significance of skin tone and societal privilege, in addition to access to resources and relative status in the world began to take on a new meaning for me. It also begin to shape my view in a more nuanced way, and becoming familiar with intersectionality, and diversity, and to what extent these factors at play out for my daughter who is of two different backgrounds, I’d like to think she embodies these best of both her mother and I. I recently graduated with my masters degree in clinical social work, which was a challenging program and also stretched my world views further from a professional and personal standpoint. The importance of seeing through different lenses and experiences from people who also do not look like me, and are of different cultural and racial/ethnic backgrounds I had not yet had the opportunity to learn about prior to moving to Minnesota. I consider myself to be much more conscious and aware, and sensitive to the nuances of race, culture,diversity and the relative status and privileges that come with it, and how the perceived power differences affect me daily in my profession. For someone like me, embracing more of an intersectional perspective and skills, as well as a healthy eagerness to learn can benefit me in my personal life at home with my blended family.

Scotch tape no longer clings here.

Malcolm-MacKenzie1Malcolm Ian Mackenzie,
Naples, NY.

My mom and Dad immigrated from Canada in the early fifties with two children Canadian-born and eleven were born in the states. Growing we had a strong family identity as Canadians, but knew we also had Scottish roots through our dad’s family. My Mom’s family were Anglo-French Canadians, with an Irish twist. Upon my father’s death five years ago, I was reviewing legal papers and read through his birth certificate from 1921. It struck me when it said of his mother and father’s ancestory, Race; Scotch. To think that in 1921 a birth certificate would refer to the Scotch as a race astounded me. It illustrated how quickly our impressions of culture and ethnicity and national heritage can change. I have always been a bit puzzled by the social acceptance of calling Scotch tape “Scotch, “when it’s origin is derogatory slang depicting a tight-fisted, perhaps thrifty people. Most people do not realize today. I only recognize it because of my interest in words and their meaning, direct, implied, or acquired. This especially hit home to me a few years ago when President Obama was quoted in a newspaper article as stating that someone wanted to get off “Scot-free.”” No editorial response was uttered by the press or the readership. This would not be the case had he referred to another ethnic/national/racial group with such an offhand, careless, and socially accepted comment. This is the background of my six-word submission. The subliminal message of Scotch tape goes by us all cloaked in a handsome tartan.

Another six-word reflection from my past is from my family’s move to Rochester, New York as an eleven-year-old in 1965. After a casual introduction to a new neighbor boy a few years older than I, he stated to me upon hearing of our large family, “Twelve kids, you must be Catholic.”” It was news to me that that was the basis of my Catholic upbringing. (At any rate my parents celebrated their love with a thirteenth child the following year!) Years later I slowly realized he was a WASP from newspaper articles that I read.

We are all threads in the same fabric, part of the human cloak. At times we play a sleeve, at times a collar, and at others we are the tail. Time calls us into and out of fashion, sometimes very purposefully and at others strictly by happenstance and casual passing.

At any rate the slang use of Scotch doesn’t cling to this Malcolm.

Malcolm MacKenzie

I always knew I was different.

Coleen Owens
Katy, TX

We (my sisters and I) were often the “minority” – growing up in a military household and moving often – whether it meant repeatedly being the new student or not speaking the language, we had many rich experiences because we didn’t fit in… we were nomadic for a time, and taught by parental modeling to embrace change and differences – to see through and beyond them while loving and learning from them. I feel lucky that I experienced what it was like to BE the one who was different – a little white girl with a Catholic school education who was born in England and became a naturalized citizen at 3… As an adult I continue to celebrate and appreciate differences. Isn’t life great – that it gives us an entire spectrum – whether it’s race, creed, color, country, etc. – we’re all sharing this planet and not one of us IS the same!

I didn’t know they were different.

Tina S. Walther,
Milan, MI.

My mother was pregnant with me when she moved from upstate NY to the south in 1962. While the weather was nice the surroundings were challenging – especially for a white, woman, Catholic, with no accent and someone not willing to have a maid or gardener. So it was time for me to begin kindergarden and the local priest came to visit and ask my mother to put me in the Catholic school. My mother agreed on one condition – that I be put in the 1st grade at the age of 5 as she felt I was mature enough to handle it. The priest held to the agreement and I began the first grade and continued to attend the school until I moved to the public school system. Years later, many years later, when I was 40 years old my mother shared with me that the reason she put me in the Catholic school was because the priest was trying to integrate the school as all the students were black – I was the very first white student. Funny thing was “I didn’t know they were different” from me. They were just kids that I would learn to play, share and grow with. Racism is a taught behavior – make sure to exposure your children to all races and types of people at a young age as building relationships of trust and respect are the only things that will help them fight the deluge of stereotyping that they will encounter the rest of their lives! I give thanks for my mother and grandfather who taught me the art of seeing a person’s soul instead of their color, status, clothing, or lack of education. In the end we are all chasing the same dream – to love and to be loved.

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