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I changed my name for you.

Nayoung Kim-Weaver,
Germany

My race card reflects my lived experiences, particularly regarding my first name, Na Young (translated from 나영 in Korean). Over time, I’ve adjusted it to Na-Young, Na-young, and now Nayoung due to encounters with white fragility. Additionally, after marrying, I took on my partner’s easily pronounceable Anglophone last name, Weaver, for various visa-related reasons in the United States, especially after we had two children. However, our family is currently in the process of changing our family name to Kim-Weaver to preserve our Korean heritage. This change is aimed at ensuring that my family name carries forward when I publish, leaving a legacy for future generations, including my children.

Adobo Beef Stew Rice Potatoes: Dinner

JimAngelinaHerrJames Estanislao Herr,
Los Angeles, CA.

Dad’s side came over in 1717–Swiss-German and Irish with some Danish and Greek thrown in. Mom came over in 1954. Filipino, Spanish and Chinese with I guess some Portuguese somewhere along the way given my middle name. Grew up in an all white community outside Philadelphia. Not sure who I was but I didn’t fit in. Moved to LA in my 30’s and found a community that looked like me–or what I thought looked like me. Still have to introduce myself as Filipino. But also found Hapa’s and Tisoy’s and Mestizo’s in all kinds of mixes and colors, shapes and sizes. We all have our way of identifying who we are and why. I find comfort in the brown side of my heritage but still proud of all of it. One conversation I’ve had with many mixed race friends, that I haven’t heard in general public discussions. When you choose to marry and have kids, does your mother’s side or your father’s side become the anomaly. This used to bother me a lot more when I was younger. Not so much today. Thank you for this Project and this opportunity.

Learn more about Estanilao Herr’s six words on NPR’s Morning Edition

So where do you come from?

Florence-2012-132Michael Chan,
Maplewood, MN.

I am half Chinese and half Caucasian, but my German and Hebrew language skills are much stronger than my Cantonese skills (my family’s language). So when I get the question, “Where do you come from?,” I laugh internally and typically spend a few seconds trying to figure out what exactly I’m being asked.

Somewhere between Salsa and Country!

Stephanie Connors
Eureka, CA

Music is one of my biggest reminders of the cultures that I grew up with. It fills me with nostalgia and pride, longing and love of the people who came before me. The people from: everywhere! I love all of it now. From day to day I swirl around in a delicious mix of American, Texan, Californian, Panamanian, English, Colombian, Scottish, Cuban, German, Irish and Woman!

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.

You’re German? Was your family Nazis?

Kaleb Wombacher,
Irvine, CA

Being of mostly Western European descent I really don’t experience a lot of hate or judgment so I try my best to be a good ally for those who do. But the most appalling thing I’ve been asked regarding my own race came from my overtly German/Austrian Lastname, Wombacher-Trolinger. It was a really jarring question for a lot of reasons. But most importantly I think it was the first time anyone had ever assumed anything about me because of my race. My family came to America in the 1800s but even if they didn’t the question would still make me feel as awful as it did. My race and genetics give me no personal cultural connections to such an atrocity and the question suggests a lack of understanding that I am my own person.

As Mutt as a Mutt Gets

DSCF2870Christi Perkinson,
Red Wing, MN.

My mom is full blooded German so I’ve always known that I was half German, but the other half was a mystery. My dad’s side is quite the mystery. His Father was born in the south while his Mother was born in Canada. Both sides came over to the U.S. early in the history of the U.S. There were rumors that one of my ancestors came over on the Mayflower, but we never had any documentation.
My aunt on my dad’s side, now retired, has been spending hours of free time compiling a family tree. I now have a glimpse into my heritage, at least a bit. Many of my ancestors came from England, Ireland, Norway, and Sweden. I found out that not 1, but 2 ancestors came over on the Mayflower and signed the Mayflower compact. Although I now have a glimpse into my ancestry and heritage, I still only know about 70% of it. Regardless of my ancestry, how I categorize myself in society is not based on where my ancestors came from, but where I am from.
While I had Welsh grey eyes, I don’t identify with European countries. I consider myself a typical Minnesotan, the whole “Minnesota Nice,” “You betcha’”, and “Hot dish” kind of girl.

Black childhood, Asian marriage, Aboriginal church.

Debbie Haughland Chan,
Canada

My heritage is Norwegian, British and German. Growing up, my church gradually became half (or more) Black Caribbean. I married a Chinese man. My daughters-in-law are Chinese from China, Chinese from Malaysia and Sri Lankan. The church I’ve attended for the last 13 1/2 years is in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Canada with a primarily Native Indian population, which is reflected in the make-up of our congregation. I love the diversity of my world.

Don’t think of you as Asian…

Dan Ellerman,
Baltimore, MD.

I was adopted from S. Korea at the age of 3 by a German/Irish couple. I grew up in a white household and neighborhood and went to predominantly African American schools in Baltimore city. The words I chose were told to me by my family and friends with the best intentions and I never knew how it affected me until adulthood. Now I think about race and Diversity every day, as a parent of mixed race kids and a Director of Diversity and Inclusion in a major corporation.

I feel invisible, while standing out.

ilovesalmanAman Agah,
Brooklyn, NY.

I am Iranian, Irish, Azari, and German. Being Iranian means being called Arab. I am not Arab. Being Iranian means being part of a group of people that so many don’t know – even if I say “Persian” – and yet I am part of a group labeled terrorist. I am the enemy that no one knows anything about. And my Irish identity has so often been denied to even exist – because how could I be any part “white!” – that I hold strongly to that part of me too. I am proud of my heritages and anyone who is not mixed will never understand the isolation that comes with it. We mixed folks are our own little community of outcasts. Something else to find pride in!

No one else chooses my identity.

998476_10104768756720124_1994979522_nNatalie,
Seattle, WA.

My grandmother never got to pass for white. She was sent to indian boarding school. 50 years later, I grew up in white suburbia, where no one assumed I was Native or even mixed-race. I self-identify as Native, I speak Chahta, I participate as a tribal citizen, I carry on the family stories, and today I’m a physician and activist fighting against poverty, homelessness, addictions, and diabetes. Ancestry: African-American, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Irish, German, Luxembourgish, Welsh.

No one wants to hear your heritage

Macy Willett,
Knoxville, TN

Yes, I do have a heritage. Yes, I am also white. While I celebrate the unique backgrounds of my friends and coworkers, I often feel as though I have no identity or culture to grasp onto. No one wants to hear your “percentages” and what comes along with you if the end result is that you are simply Caucasian. But, I am the daughter of a second-generation German immigrant who moved to the states as a single mom. I have stories, traditions, and culture. I am proud of my heritage, even if that looks like a percentage number to some people.

The University of Tennessee, Knoxville Sociology 110

Three months more, would they ask?

Nina Martin
Phoenix, AZ

I am quietly proud of my multiracial background: my mother is Chinese, and my father is half German, half American. I also look absolutely nothing like my mother, save for straight hair and slightly tanner skin. While never a negative issue, this has led to some interesting situations since the time I was little: being the only “white” person in family photos among my Chinese cousins; having a substitute call another, Asian girl when my mother came to pick me up from school; my mother joking that people would think she was the nanny, or I was adopted.

I was also born three months premature, and for a while I have wondered what those three months would have given me. Would I look more “Asian” ? Would people no longer puzzle over my face, and ask me almost instantly “What are you” ? Would Cantonese flow off my tongue like water, rather than bricks as it does now?

Would I still feel the same?

To some degree, my childhood was filled with ambiguity. I knew our family was different, that I was different, and that was OK, but it becomes even harder to figure out who you are when you sit in the gray regions between two worlds. But it is the very lack of definition that has given me the freedom to explore exactly who I am, and also gives me the perspective to look at people who are different from me and find the common threads.

Those three months didn’t take anything away from me: they gave me who I am today. I chose my career in public health because I can help bring longer, healthier lives to people across the world; I fight to make a difference now because I came into this world fighting.

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.

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