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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.

Please don’t ask me to jig.

199625_10150112595007950_4022359_nZee Brennan
Grand Rapids, MI

Often times when I share with people that I am Irish, many people aren’t surprised and demand that I dance a jig for them. Although I am also an accomplished Irish dancer, it feels as though there is an assumption among many Americans that all Irish know how to dance a jig. It feels as though my culture has become a bit of an entertainment act among Americans as they do not have the same kind of respect or appreciation for the tradition behind Irish arts and music.

Again I was barred from dancing.

temptationsStephen Pagel
Wichita, KS

In my early years I saw The Temptations on The Ed Sullivan show and was blown away not only by their singing, but especially by their moves. Through them I discovered the Motown sound, and Stax, and The Philly grove and learned I had natural rhythm. When I hit college, started going out and dancing people realized I could hold my own on the dance floor. One night some friends asked me to join them at a club. When we arrived I was told I was not welcome. Several times these friends would invite me to a new club in their neighborhood and when other friends asked why I was back on campus so early I’d say “Again I was barred from dancing.” I love dancing and all I wanted to do was dance with these friends or see live a group I really enjoyed, yet back in the early 70’s there were clubs I was not allowed in because I was white.

Struck for Dancing with Blacks, Why?

M C Antone,
Ft Lauderdale, FL.

In 1969 I told my parents that I would rather dance with the black kids at a high school dance. My father stated he did not want anyone calling his daughter a “n*****” lover. I retorted “I am and I’m proud of it” Then he struck me. I can still feel the anger and fear I had that day. Fortunately my mother did not feel the same way and it only made me want to have more blacks friends. I would have missed out on some wonderful people in my life if I had “obeyed” him.

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