Let's talk about the American Crime finale. I hated it. Not only did the black man get shot and killed, his white girlfriend committed suicide; to make matters worse, the killer of the black man cowardly shot and killed himself.
My understanding of the plot is to capture the events and twists of crime that takes place in American amongst various ethnicities. Call me biased, but I thought it should've had a different ending! How is the biracial couple killed?! How will we ever know who really killed Matt Skokie and injured his wife Gwen? For God's sake, does the black man ever win?!
The finale left the racist mother of Matt Skokie alive, the Hispanic criminal acquitted and with a job, while the rest of the families grieve the loss of their loved ones.
Perhaps I won't be in good company in thinking that this finale sucked...biased because I am biracial. However, I anticipated a different outcome. The love that Aubrey had for Carter was real, and even though their relationship was based upon drugs, alcohol, and violence you could sense their unquestioned loyalty to one another. And lets face it, we've almost all been in unhealthy relationships. Maybe not plagued with substance abuse and violence, but nonetheless unhealthy.
As I sat with my hands on each side of my head in disbelief, tears in my eyes, I thought, maybe this is a reality check.
This is how life plays out for many families.
Sad. Angry. Unhealthy. Violent. Racist.
Once I got past my initially disappointment I realized the significance of the message and the public awareness made about the relationship between crime and racism in America. Even though I hoped for a different ending, the truth was exposed.
Friday, May 15, 2015
A Biracial Baby
I was at work yesterday and there were four pregnant women who I saw during the day, each of whom were sick. Later that evening I was eating dinner with my mom and asked what her reaction was when she found out that she was pregnant with me.
Her response "It's so weird that you should ask, I was just thinking about that earlier today!"
I often joke that we are "in sync", if we have plans for dinner together it never fails we usually have a taste for the same thing, or when we are reminiscing we often think of the same times. I was two weeks overdue, cozy, and probably tapped into her brain during that time :-)
In one word she described her reaction as "ecstatic".
I wouldn't expect anything differently from her because my mother is an angel. She was 35 when she found out and didn't anticipate ever having a child. My next question was how my family reacted.
It was 1987, to be born in 1988, when she got pregnant. Because it was with an African American man, whom she was not married to, I imagined that it was somewhat of a hard pill to swallow for my Southern Catholic Caucasian family. My analogy is much like the way I think of those who belong to groups like FLDS; you can't see the other side because you've been brainwashed with nonsense for your entire life. Racism was very much alive. My mom has talked about movie theaters in the town where she lived or water fountains where black people were on one side and white on the other. Segregation. My mother, as not to hurt my feelings I'm sure, sugar coated the level of acceptance and support of her side of the family. However, she admitted that it was challenging for some. She said my grandmother was bothered more by the fact that she was having a child out of wedlock, however, she came and stayed with us the first week of my life. She gave me my first bath.
Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like to have a Caucasian father, and then I think about how blessed I am. I am unconditionally loved and that's more than some can say.
I am grateful.
Yet, I still wonder...what do they really think? Are they ashamed or embarrassed?
Her response "It's so weird that you should ask, I was just thinking about that earlier today!"
I often joke that we are "in sync", if we have plans for dinner together it never fails we usually have a taste for the same thing, or when we are reminiscing we often think of the same times. I was two weeks overdue, cozy, and probably tapped into her brain during that time :-)
In one word she described her reaction as "ecstatic".
I wouldn't expect anything differently from her because my mother is an angel. She was 35 when she found out and didn't anticipate ever having a child. My next question was how my family reacted.
It was 1987, to be born in 1988, when she got pregnant. Because it was with an African American man, whom she was not married to, I imagined that it was somewhat of a hard pill to swallow for my Southern Catholic Caucasian family. My analogy is much like the way I think of those who belong to groups like FLDS; you can't see the other side because you've been brainwashed with nonsense for your entire life. Racism was very much alive. My mom has talked about movie theaters in the town where she lived or water fountains where black people were on one side and white on the other. Segregation. My mother, as not to hurt my feelings I'm sure, sugar coated the level of acceptance and support of her side of the family. However, she admitted that it was challenging for some. She said my grandmother was bothered more by the fact that she was having a child out of wedlock, however, she came and stayed with us the first week of my life. She gave me my first bath.
Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like to have a Caucasian father, and then I think about how blessed I am. I am unconditionally loved and that's more than some can say.
I am grateful.
Yet, I still wonder...what do they really think? Are they ashamed or embarrassed?
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
The One Drop Rule
The "one drop" rule is also known as "our government is too lazy to change what's been done for oodles and oodles of years" rule. While that may apply to a variety of social issues, the one drop rule can also be found under that category.
Again, I get it. If you've never experienced it, it's likely not that important to you. When people can't relate, it's hard to be empathic. I understand, I am currently working on changing that about myself.
One Drop rule basically means that if you're any parts African American, you're thrown into that category. Recently I received a letter in the mail seeking information about myself in order for them to update their prospective juror list (fingers crossed that I am called for jury duty!....I know, who actually wants jury duty?! Weirdo, party of one!!). They ask the typical descriptive information such as age, gender....and ethnicity! For the first time I filled in two boxed.
The black box
&
The white box.
According to the one drop rule, the person doing data entry will either roll their eyes and place me in the African American column or will chuckle...all while still adding me to the African American column. What if I had only checked the "white" box? Would I then have a warrant out for my arrest for falsifying a government document?!
I know what you're thinking. Why don't I just fill in the "other" box and then I won't be categorized as black or white. The answer is, I do. Sometimes. Honestly though, who wants to be an "other"? What does that even mean? You're not black, non-hispanic white, Hispanic, or Asian, but you're an "other". In the grand scheme of life it doesn't really matter. I still take my next breath and continue living. It's more about the principal. Most people who fill out documents requiring a check in the ethnicity box don't even think twice about what they are going to put. Their eyes are already reading the next question. Yet something as simple as checking which ethnicity I am, requires second thought and is yet another reminder that my circle doesn't fit in the square.
It's just food for thought.
When data and poll results are released about African American and Caucasian views on various issues, how many of those results include biracial statistics. I'm classified as black, but maybe my views correlate with another ethnicity. What about those who are Hispanic and white, or Asian and white? I would be willing to bet money that they are dropped in the Hispanic or Asian categories, and not white.
I love white people, but apparently it's damn hard to be considered white unless you're "full bred". We're quick to place people in minority categories.
Trying to change document wording would be a monumental undertaking that I quite frankly am not up for. I will leave that to the more powerful people who know how to advocate such change.
Bringing awareness is the goal. We preach different is a good thing and to walk through life colorblind, yet all important documents ostracize a large group of individuals. And let's be honest, people that are colorblind still see black and white and being different will always be considered non-conforming.
A biracial box never hurt anybody.
Again, I get it. If you've never experienced it, it's likely not that important to you. When people can't relate, it's hard to be empathic. I understand, I am currently working on changing that about myself.
One Drop rule basically means that if you're any parts African American, you're thrown into that category. Recently I received a letter in the mail seeking information about myself in order for them to update their prospective juror list (fingers crossed that I am called for jury duty!....I know, who actually wants jury duty?! Weirdo, party of one!!). They ask the typical descriptive information such as age, gender....and ethnicity! For the first time I filled in two boxed.
The black box
&
The white box.
According to the one drop rule, the person doing data entry will either roll their eyes and place me in the African American column or will chuckle...all while still adding me to the African American column. What if I had only checked the "white" box? Would I then have a warrant out for my arrest for falsifying a government document?!
I know what you're thinking. Why don't I just fill in the "other" box and then I won't be categorized as black or white. The answer is, I do. Sometimes. Honestly though, who wants to be an "other"? What does that even mean? You're not black, non-hispanic white, Hispanic, or Asian, but you're an "other". In the grand scheme of life it doesn't really matter. I still take my next breath and continue living. It's more about the principal. Most people who fill out documents requiring a check in the ethnicity box don't even think twice about what they are going to put. Their eyes are already reading the next question. Yet something as simple as checking which ethnicity I am, requires second thought and is yet another reminder that my circle doesn't fit in the square.
It's just food for thought.
When data and poll results are released about African American and Caucasian views on various issues, how many of those results include biracial statistics. I'm classified as black, but maybe my views correlate with another ethnicity. What about those who are Hispanic and white, or Asian and white? I would be willing to bet money that they are dropped in the Hispanic or Asian categories, and not white.
I love white people, but apparently it's damn hard to be considered white unless you're "full bred". We're quick to place people in minority categories.
Trying to change document wording would be a monumental undertaking that I quite frankly am not up for. I will leave that to the more powerful people who know how to advocate such change.
Bringing awareness is the goal. We preach different is a good thing and to walk through life colorblind, yet all important documents ostracize a large group of individuals. And let's be honest, people that are colorblind still see black and white and being different will always be considered non-conforming.
A biracial box never hurt anybody.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Barack Obama and the Proverbial Identity Crisis
My "identity crisis" is in good company, I mean for God's sake Barack Obama doesn't know who he is either.
Kidding.
That was according to the Republicans. What do they know? Uh...everything. Where have you been?!
Really though, the identity crisis thing is played out until you're the victim. I would consider myself an opinionated individual and through this writing experience I have realized that I can be a bit of a hypocrite and lacking in the empathy department. It wasn't until I was bulldozed by one of my patient's mothers that I was humbled.
As I stood in the break room at work, tears streaming down my embarrassed red face, I knew this was the moment that I wasn't quite over it. My hand were trembling with anger and the sound of those names echoing in my head "your white mom " this "your dark dad" that. I closed my eyes, as one last stream of tears rolled down my cheek, dabbed my face with a cheap brown paper towel, took a deep breath and opened the door into the hallway. I ventured back onto the job less confident than ever.
When my patient's mother told me that I "was having an identity crisis" I was outraged, nearly reaching over, arms around her neck, choking her. That would've landed me in our psych area, my license would've been revoked, and I would've still been left defeated and now jobless.
So instead...
I froze in disbelief. I administered the medication that I brought for her daughter, and headed to the door with her still going on her tirade about who only knows. Before I got to the door I turned around and said, "I'm done with you disrespecting me. You are incredibly rude." That fell on deaf ears. Naturally.
Her kindergarten response, "well I find you disrespectful". Ha! Is that so? I was unaware that bending over backwards for someone was disrespectful.
I desperately wanted those words to roll right over me, instead I spent the rest of the night playing the scenario in my mind at nausea-um. My supervisor and co-workers were hugging me, apologizing for the ignorance of that patient's mother. It felt good to be understood in that moment, but the battle was within. I have plenty of friends and family who love me, who support me, who appreciate the woman that I am, yet I don't know if I can say the same for myself.
As much as it pains me to admit, pleading my case that I was not having an identity crisis, she was probably right. Ethnic confusion. Combusting from within. Something I thought I was over. Joke's on me.
In an attempt to understand my feelings, putting the puzzle pieces together, I began journaling. I challenged myself to go all of the way back to my childhood, making sense of the biracial journey I've been on. It amazed me how many incidences stuck out. I can't remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday morning, but I damn sure remember that time in fourth grade when a classmate asked if I was adopted because I looked nothing like my mother. And the times we were in the store and nobody thought we were related.
Those questions haven't stopped coming, in fact they've multiplied and morphed into crueler versions of its original form.
Inception of TABBW
For the past 27 years I've faced curious faces, wrinkled foreheads, head tilts and questions like "What are you?"
I'm sure the various people I've encountered in my life could answer that question many different ways; however, the only answer that will satisfy the 2857895729872 people who've asked that is the answer "black and white". They stand in curiosity wondering my ethnicity. Does it really matter?!!....clearly to them it does.
I know what you're thinking, "not another platform to talk about race. Enough with the white cop black kid drama. Enough with the black power speeches. Enough with the white supremacy BS." Believe me, I sigh and roll my eyes, even toss my hands in the air, sometimes SMH at the countless racially charged conversations on TV. Then I stopped to think, well I'm feeling a certain way when people ask "what I am" and throw names at me like "mutt" "half breed" "oreo". That's when I'm brought back down to earth and realize, I can relate. While I don't identify or agree with some of what is being said, because I look at both perspectives, I know that they too have a journey and many of their opinions are based on personal or family experiences.
I identify as biracial. I don't consider myself black or white, even though all important documents think it necessary to force me to choose and if I check both boxes "black" and "white" I get pushed into the African American category (to be discussed...).
My thoughts started out as a cathartic way to humor myself, laugh at the ignorance and work through some identity issues, but I surprised myself with revelations about my feelings and thought if only one person could benefit it would all be worth it.
The Art of Being Black and White is a collection of my life experiences and self-realizations that just when I forget that I look different than most, someone will always find a way to remind me.
While sticks and stones may indeed break your bones, words can also hurt you.
I'm sure the various people I've encountered in my life could answer that question many different ways; however, the only answer that will satisfy the 2857895729872 people who've asked that is the answer "black and white". They stand in curiosity wondering my ethnicity. Does it really matter?!!....clearly to them it does.
I know what you're thinking, "not another platform to talk about race. Enough with the white cop black kid drama. Enough with the black power speeches. Enough with the white supremacy BS." Believe me, I sigh and roll my eyes, even toss my hands in the air, sometimes SMH at the countless racially charged conversations on TV. Then I stopped to think, well I'm feeling a certain way when people ask "what I am" and throw names at me like "mutt" "half breed" "oreo". That's when I'm brought back down to earth and realize, I can relate. While I don't identify or agree with some of what is being said, because I look at both perspectives, I know that they too have a journey and many of their opinions are based on personal or family experiences.
I identify as biracial. I don't consider myself black or white, even though all important documents think it necessary to force me to choose and if I check both boxes "black" and "white" I get pushed into the African American category (to be discussed...).
My thoughts started out as a cathartic way to humor myself, laugh at the ignorance and work through some identity issues, but I surprised myself with revelations about my feelings and thought if only one person could benefit it would all be worth it.
The Art of Being Black and White is a collection of my life experiences and self-realizations that just when I forget that I look different than most, someone will always find a way to remind me.
While sticks and stones may indeed break your bones, words can also hurt you.
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