She’s like me, never the reverse.
Nancy G Moehle,
Minneapolis, MN
I don’t like to think of myself as a racist. But it dawned on me just this morning, that when I consider my friends/family of other races or ethnicities, I accept them because I know they are just like me. Why do I do that and not think instead, “I am just like them.”? That thought is more challenging for me.
DON’T ASK ME TO JUST FORGET
Thaddeus,
Nashville, TN.
I was raised poor in Louisiana where the generations of my family before me farmed and picked cotton, fished and lived off the land. Our water was rain water caught in a ground cistern and we used an outhouse for a toilet and boiled water for each night to bathe. So please don’t tell me how “privileged” I was raised. My first year of junior high, I was suddenly bussed halfway across the parish for desegregation instead of going to school with the kids I’d known since first grade. Our family cemetery started as the cemetery for a Confederate fort because it was high ground that never flooded. I cannot and will not forget the sacrifices that my ancestors made and the path that was blazed for my life. I’ve researched my genealogy back to the early 1800’s and there’s no documentation that any of them ever owned a slave. Instead, pictures show that the families as poor farm folk who led hard lives and were devoted Christians. They worked hard for what little they had. Even with more education and 12 years of military service, I, too, have had to work and scrimp to save for what I’ve accumulated over the years. I certainly don’t count myself as privileged, merely that I’ve been taught how to be happy with little and have some peace of mind with a hope for a better life on the other side of this one. I’ve learned to quit looking at what everyone else has and be thankful for what little I have. After all, it’s unlikely anybody is going to give you much. You’ve got to take some responsibility and get it for yourself.
That girl spat in my eye.
Caprice Becker,
Manhattan, KS.
I was in High School in a very small town of about 1300 mostly descended from German immigrants in the 1870s, all white (except for the one Korean who had been adopted by a local family when she was a toddler) in the early 70’s. All the surrounding communities in Central Kansas were essentially of the same make up with the possible exception of the European country of origin. Most of us had never encountered a person who wasn’t of European descent.
State High School Music festival was always held in a Wichita high school. As some of us were walking the hallways between our performances we approached a small group of Black girls walking towards us. I stared at them. As the groups passed, I felt a glob of moisture in my eye. By the time I figured out what had happened we were well past the other group. This is the first time I have told anyone, including the girls I was with.
Over the years the incident has occasionally returned to my mind. We were both being very typical of our cultures. My father was blatantly racist, I was trying not to be. The sight of the tall girl with a wide Afro mesmerized me. My only experience with such a sight was on television. Her experience with white people staring was likely always a challenge or threat.
The memory of the incident is a reminder that it’s easy to be racist without realizing what one is doing. I’m not justifying the girl’s response to me. It is NOT okay to spit in someone’s eye. Even so, her action helped me, and still helps me, to see who I am and who I really want to be.
Your family isn’t your “real” family
Anonymous,
Des Moiones, IA.
Drake University
This is what my mom was told in 1954 when social services came into her home and removed her and all of her siblings from her mom. At that time they were truly poor and were having a hard time finding enough food to eat. Her mother had a dysfunctional relationship with her husband and her younger children did have different fathers. My mom’s father was black. All of her older siblings were white and her two youngest siblings had a hispanic father. My mom did not realize that she was racially different from her siblings until the State of Iowa told her “that they were going to find her real family”. Four of her siblings were able to stay together the twins were adopted by family and her two brothers directly under her were adopted together. Over time, my grandmother did regain custody of three of the 8 children that were taken by the state once she married the hispanic man who was the father of her two youngest children. My mom however, was in an orphanage waiting for her real family. She did have occasional visits with her family until she was sent to live with the THomas Family who were and respectable, and black. My mom did not know that her siblings missed never stopped looking for their sister. It took 40 years but in 1994 my mom was reunited with her “Real” Family.
Mom said brown girls are ugly.
Anna,
Santa Maria, CA.
I am a 47 year old Filipina. I remember being constantly compared to my lighter skinned cousins and feeling awkward to be among my own family. If I could, I would travel back in time and give my 3 year old self a tight hug and tell her how important it is to love herself and to never believe any of the b.s. her mother tells her ever again.
Loud family passionate about Family & Food
Ryan Sumner,
College Park, MD.
Italians are often seen as stereotypically loud and have a passion for food. My family falls into these stereotypes
Rural Alaska, six blacks, my family.
Lydia Taylor
Memphis, TN
I was born and raised in Alaska. When I was 4, my father got out of the Air Force and accepted a job as a State Trooper in Dillingham, Alaska. He moved from Anchorage to Dillingham first, to start his job as we as find us a place to live. We followed on my 5th birthday, I thought I was being punished. We moved to a small fishing town off the Bristol Bay, where the majority of people there, majority Alaskan Native, had not seen a black person in “real life.” We lived in Dillingham for 8 years and it taught me many things about race relations. My siblings and I were tormented daily at school, called n*****, jiggaboo, blackie, darkie, monkey, ape, pretty much any derogatory racial slur you could use towards a black person. It caused me to hate being black as a kid, it took a lot for me to learn to love me. We left Dillingham in 1993.
Family love comes from open hearts.
June Wells,
Harrisonburg, VA
My new family saved my life. I was finally safe and just one of “the kids” with my foster parents, Sam and Lucille Ewell. This was in Virginia when integration was still a fairly new thing. My dad, a teacher, lost his job because of Prince Edward County, VA. Still, he opened his heart to me. What can I say?
Your family isn’t your “real” family
Anonymous,
Des Moiones, IA.
Drake University
This is what my mom was told in 1954 when social services came into her home and removed her and all of her siblings from her mom. At that time they were truly poor and were having a hard time finding enough food to eat. Her mother had a dysfunctional relationship with her husband and her younger children did have different fathers. My mom’s father was black. All of her older siblings were white and her two youngest siblings had a hispanic father. My mom did not realize that she was racially different from her siblings until the State of Iowa told her “that they were going to find her real family”. Four of her siblings were able to stay together the twins were adopted by family and her two brothers directly under her were adopted together. Over time, my grandmother did regain custody of three of the 8 children that were taken by the state once she married the hispanic man who was the father of her two youngest children. My mom however, was in an orphanage waiting for her real family. She did have occasional visits with her family until she was sent to live with the THomas Family who were and respectable, and black. My mom did not know that her siblings missed never stopped looking for their sister. It took 40 years but in 1994 my mom was reunited with her “Real” Family.
Mom said brown girls are ugly.
Anna,
Santa Maria, CA.
I am a 47 year old Filipina. I remember being constantly compared to my lighter skinned cousins and feeling awkward to be among my own family. If I could, I would travel back in time and give my 3 year old self a tight hug and tell her how important it is to love herself and to never believe any of the b.s. her mother tells her ever again.
Keep culture a strong part of families
Adam,
Durham, NH
Culture and different cultures is what keeps people different and unique. Without different thoughts and beliefs, this world would be boring. Cultures are amazing to learn about the different ones and that should never change!
The culmination of hate and hope.
Kimberly,
Pittsfield, MA.
My father, whom I don’t know, is black and my mother is white. I was raised in a White, Irish family. Growing up, no one in my family looked like me, but I never noticed until ‘Roots’ premiered on TV.
I had my son with a white man, so he is one quarter black, but is assumed to be Caucasian because of his appearance. My newly arrived grandson, is also white. And so for all these reasons, I spend a good deal of time (as does my son) trying to convince others that I was NOT adopted and that I AM a biological member of my own family.
In addition, there are two basic facts that I perpetually have to deal with; the fact that I am not white AND the fact that I am not black. People assume I ‘have the best of both worlds’ – in some ways; yes. There is a presumption that I am somehow less likely to be ‘ghetto’ or ‘hood’. My appearance often confuses people as to my origin, so they err on the side of caution. I am able to visibly tan, and have slightly less conflict with my hair. People find me more approachable than someone they consider ‘black’. I am often described as ‘exotic’ looking.
However, in other ways; no. I am still the target of racism, from both groups! Whites who do not accept others, recognize that no matter how ‘light’ I am, I am not ‘one of them’. And Blacks have a tendency to assume I ‘think I’m better’ or ‘act white’. There is a resentment from Black women, in particular about their ‘light skinned sisters’ stealing their men. But when I date white people, I am accused of ‘dissing my brothers’.
All this is based solely on MY OWN EXPERIENCES. But I believe that while I am a target for all the hate and resentment from both races, (and others), I also represent the future. Because that creamy beige, has become unremarkable. It could be a mixture of ANY ethnic combination, and so as more and more people become that color, the origins of it will become less and less important. …that’s my hope, at least.
Who knew Hispanics could be Native?
Luis Toro,
Denver, CO.
They try to tell us Hispanics are either white or black but my family’s ancestry is definitely Native American, we even know what tribes.
No…None of us were adopted
Madilyn Hays,
Holland, MI.
Me and my siblings are from all different ethnic backgrounds. I’m blond haired, blue eyed and full white. While my brother and sister are both of African American background, their great grand father was actually Louis Armstrong. And then my last two brothers are Puerto Rican. We all have the same mom. All 5 of us. Yet every time someone sees my family, or notices my sisters hair or all my brother’s brown eyes, their first reaction is
“Wow! Are they Adopted?”
To which I respond “No”
“Oh….So were You adopted?”
“No. We all have the same mom”
“How does that work?”
Once a conversation like this starts out it can get awkward very fast. I just wish people were more exposed to multi racial families. Not many seem to understand or even fully accept that I have a beautifully mixed family. And it hurts, when someone points out that I’m white, so I must be racist or something. When they don’t understand that I love my siblings so much, that discriminating over skin color is not an option for me, and never has been. It’s how I was raised and what I believe. I will forever be proud of my mixed family, But It’d be nice if it was accepted without the harsh comments and questions.
Family love comes from open hearts.
June Wells,
Harrisonburg, VA
My new family saved my life. I was finally safe and just one of “the kids” with my foster parents, Sam and Lucille Ewell. This was in Virginia when integration was still a fairly new thing. My dad, a teacher, lost his job because of Prince Edward County, VA. Still, he opened his heart to me. What can I say?
