Immigrant to America equals sacrificing generations.
Tom Lau,
Chicago, IL.
This is a Polaroid of the back of my mom and dad that I took few years ago.
Helped Mom study for her citizenship test
Peg Anderson,
Westborough, MA.
Mom came here after WWll from Newfoundland, Canada. When I was in the fifth grade she became a citizen. I used to quiz her while sitting on the front steps of our house.
Grew Up Black. Now part Mexican.
Michelle Y. Bess,
Chicago, IL.
My mom is from California, my dad is from NYC. They raised my 4 siblings and me in Washington State. We grew up identifying as black. Recently, on a trip home, my mom learned that our family moved from Mexico to California on a covered wagon to begin a new life.
White wife sixties Chicago eyes opened
Gail Howard,
Redding, CT
My memoir, White Wife/Blue Baby, examines how I at least partially unlearned racism marrying across the 1968 Chicago color line and caring for our gorgeous, vivid, fragile baby girl.
Por supuesto que soy su mamá
Sonia Kang
Northridge, CA
Are you their mom? As a biracial mom (Black/Latina) married to a Korean man with children who look more Asian than anything else, we are often looked at with curiosity. They look at them then at me. Is she the nanny? Who can she be? Whether at their Korean language immersion school, Tae Kwon do class or at the park, I get the inquisitive look. There are those that just stare but then there are those bold enough to inquire, are they your children? Of course they are my children!
Mom, why do they hate us?
Theresa Salomon,
Parkland, FL.
A few months ago, as my 7 year old son was about to seat next to a class mate, he was told that Blacks should stay on the other side. That sentence changed our lives. My son and I had many conversations about racisms, and throughout I was able to redirect, comfort, joke, explain…but when he asked me “Mom why do they hate us?” I was not sure of how nor what to answer. I am raising my son to be of the Human race and I hope to never drift from that course ever again.
The real fear of a black parent
Belinda Gilmore,
Maceo, KY
It was early 2016, and I was on the phone talking to a friend I had not seen in a while. We were discussing life since she had to leave work due to a health issue. We both have a son the same age that would graduate high school in August. She was telling me about her son and how he was working because he had just gotten his first car. She went on to tell me that he has some new friends that live in the next town over, but she was afraid for him to go there (she lives in Breckinridge Country, Kentucky). I was confused, so I asked her why. She told me about some Klan activity that had taken place in the area before. I proceeded to question her fear. I acknowledged that there were still equality issues, but in the last decade the country had come so far. I went on to point out that we have a black president which I never thought would happen earlier in life. She stood firm and told me I just don’t understand. I didn’t.
The 2016 election campaign began. As a society, we are all attached in some way through social media. I only used Facebook to stay connected with family. I began to see so much hate being shared. I stopped opening it completely. I would only access Twitter because you are not required to follow certain individuals. Violence was coming to light more than I ever remember previously mainly toward black people but not limited to them. Then the election happened, and people quit being politically correct which brought me to the realization of how many people were before. I naively thought society was truly changing. I thought of my friend and all the things she will fear that I will never have to. I called my friend one day late in the year. Before we got too far into the conversation, I got a bit emotional and said, “I need to apologize to you,”
You don’t live with your parents?
Courissa,
Bath, NY
I get a lot of questions when people hear I live with my aunt and uncle, because I call them “mom” and “dad”. I have lived with them for over 6 years and they both stepped up to be my parents when they didn’t have to, but they chose to do so.
Corning Community College
I’m their mom, not the nanny.
Allison A,
Yakima, WA.
Sometimes it’s nanny, sometimes it’s babysitter or neighbor, but being asked if I was their grandmother was a first for me. At times, the question is about adoption . . . “Where did you get her?” The questions come from complete strangers, usually white people. The need to figure out this “puzzle,” and what a white woman is doing at the store (insert anywhere public here) with these children is tangible. Maybe they can’t imagine themselves with three bi-racial daughters and want to know more. For the most part, these interactions are not malicious, it’s more out of “polite” curiosity.
I (don’t) fit. Don’t look closely.
Emery Boyle-Scott,
Milwaukee, WI.
I want to belong in a group, and it’s nice to belong until someone looks closely. My whiteness is always sidelined when people learn about my lesbian moms. Don’t look closely and I have all the privilege. But, then it disappears and I’m not allowed, I’m questioned on everything. There’s no box for my diversity. There are literally dozens of us, but we’re not connected.
Mom taught me to love everyone
Robert McAlister,
Lexington, SC.
Grew up in segregated south in a single parent home. Always felt on the margins but later in life realized my mom was ahead of her time in accepting and seeing everyone as God’s children.
Thankful mom embraced non-white cultures too.
Adrianne Tomkinson,
Aurora, IL
I am white. I am female. I grew up poor with black, brown, white and yellow neighbors. I loved and felt loved by them all. I wish everyone grew up with that opportunity.
“Talaga! I thought you were Pilipino!”
JSRL Padre,
Glendale, CA.
I am Filipino. Born in Quezon. Imported to East LA. Learned to walk and talk in Los Feliz. Never heard Tagalog at home. It’s not my parent’s first language. That would be Ilocano for my papa, and maybe Alcalenian or Pangasinan for mama. Because of where I grew up, Spanish is more native to me than Tagalog. But every Filipino I meet at work assumes I speak Tagalog. And when they realize I don’t, they disparage me and my parents.
Too white to be Native American
Simone,
Chicago, IL.
A lot of people say I look too white to be Native American. It’s tiring that my mom is full Cherokee while my dad was full blown Italian, all my other bothers came out darker than me and had brown eyes, I am the only girl int he family. As far as having light skin, but tan in the summer, dark hair with green eyes. I tell people that i am mixed but seem not to believe based on soley the skin color. To me skin color doesn’t matter on a base of streotyping people, but that’s what you get on people who choose to live inside the box rather than out.
