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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.

My color does not define me

Ryan williams,
Grand Blanc, MI

As a black man in America I am expected to be multiple things.
Unsophisticated, not smart, ghetto, unprofessional and unethical.
But this isn’t the case with me as i am often referred to as well-spoken
Quiet and well-mannered. My race gives me character along with the historical background and people I hang around, but my color and stereotypes of my people do not define me and never have. Based on my appearance I am not the character you may think I am as with my unkempt hair and urban clothes you see people of my appearance in stories or on the news all the time. I am just as much a civilian and citizen as anyone else so this does not define me. I am culture appropriate and well behaved so I hate that the stereotypes can ruin my image. I hate that I have to be fearful of where I am or where I go because somebody may perceive me as something I am not and unlawful and unjustified actions may take place. I love my life as much as the next person and the fact that I have to fear for it upsets me in a way unimaginable.
I try to make myself as socially acceptable as I can in the eyes of others but if people don’t like what comes with me then I don’t care for them. My life is just as important as anybody else and the fact that things can happen to me because of color and race scares me. The food i eat aren’t really related to my race along with the fact that I am not that racially cultured but I still have things that give me life.

I am not defined by society

Photo-on-2013-12-15-at-22.07-5Justina Adarkwah
Christchurch, VA

I’ve always had a problem with identity, but ironically I realized it was me that thought I had a problem, it was society, my community, everyone else who had an opinion about ‘what’ I was and who I should be. I’m not sorry to let everyone one know that its not their decision to make, the colour of my skin has almost nothing to do with who I am, I didn’t ask to be born to my parents, born in my country, speak the way I do, look the way I do so why is it an issue? I can look ‘black’, talk ‘white’, act ‘latino’, study like an ‘asian’. It’s no one’s business but mine. These are all stereotypes and they are named as such for a reason. We are who say we are, I choose to be just human, what about you?

Your hair color doesn’t define you

Madison Wells,
Bettendorf, IA

As a kid growing up I have always been told especially in school that I have no soul because of the color of my hair. When I would get an attitude people would say “it’s the hair talking”. The color of someone’s hair should not define them as a person. You should get to know somewhere before you make a judgment/comment based on their hair color.
– Madison Wells
– Scott Community College

I am not your curiosity game.

photo-2Victoria,
Salem, OR.

As a biracial person, people often ask me, “what ethnicity are you?” – aka what race can I define you as? People who first meet me will ask me this question without ever asking for my name. They seem to only care about what I am not who I am. However, I am more than just white and Asian and Jewish. I am a compassionate person and if you stopped asking about my race, then you would get the chance to meet me.

Gifted Black Girl’s Road Less Traveled

Giji Mischel Dennard,
Burtonsville, MD

While my cross-culture world view likely has been shaped by my early exposure to people with ethnicities different from my own, I can’t help but believe that by divine design I was wired for this often “road less traveled” life journey. As far back as 3rd grade, other Black kids called me names like “Black cracker,” due to my speech pattern…primarily the result of growing up in a family of educators. It didn’t help that from 3rd through 5th grades, I was the only Black child in the gifted program. Many of my other friends in this group were first-generation Americans, whose parents were from Cuba, Syria, Sicily, Lebanon and Canada. Until tenth grade or so–separated by relocation–my best friend was Jewish and hers was the only house of non-family members where I could spend the night. I was surrounded by affluence, but lived on the other side of the track. In 9th grade, I attended a prep school where I was the only Black kid in the entire school. But I was raised in Florida and experienced some violent racist encounters between 7th grade and my senior year in high school. I’ve dated guys from Lebanon, Haiti, Palestine, the Ivory Coast, Tonga, the Bahamas and a few African-Americans in-between. When I went to grad school at Stanford Law School, I often was asked how I was “adjusting” having gone to Howard University undergrad. The truth was Stanford was what I knew and Howard was quite a culture shock. Not many of my undergraduate peers had studied, Latin and classical Greek and I was the only one who went all the way through 3rd-year Russian. All these years later, I still often find myself a minority within a minority. I’m a conservative African-American with strong messianic Jewish leanings. I often find I am drawn to and most embraced by others, like me, who lead cross-cultural lives. While my race is a core part of my identity, it has much less influence on what defines me.

The difference is culture, not color.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERABrenda Ward,
Schaumburg, IL.

The color of our skin has nothing to do with who we are. It is where we live, who raises us, our family traditions, our geography. We try to peg the differences on color because it is easier to see and understand and our lack of interest in exploring and appreciating the culture of others is the real problem. This photo is my mom and some of her grandbabies.

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