For the Love of Identity: My Story as a Biracial Woman
Note: This is based on my own experience. It is not intended to offend anyone in the least. If you would like to discuss this further, please let me know and I would be happy to expand if need be!
If I had a dollar for how many times I was asked “where are you from?” all throughout my teenage years, I swear I would be rich. As an adult, I answer this question by the geological location of where I was raised. Just about every time, they come back with a more focused question that is seeking to find out what race I define with or that I belong to. I’ve hit a point now where I ask back, internally, does it matter? And if it does, how can I show my little boy (who is even more mixed than I am) that he should be proud of his familial ties but not be crippled by them?
My mother is from El Salvador. My father is from Jamaica. My mother spoke not one word of English when she came from her country to Boston. My father crossed paths with her at a bus stop in Jamaica Plain and was so enamored by this light skinned latina that he wrote her a letter and gave it to her one day. After learning enough of the language to make out that my father was trying to ask her out on a date, my mother accepted. The rest is history.
I was raised in Miami. I did not speak a word of Spanish. I ate typical Caribbean cuisine: curry goat, oxtail, corned beef and dumplins- you name it! I was familiar with Latin food but it was not a staple in my home. The most important idea in my household was to EXCEL in my schooling- nothing more, nothing less. My father was strict in that my tush saw a few of the infamous Caribbean “beatings” for reasons that, not at the time but now as a parent, I laugh at. But we never spoke of color. We never spoke of race. We never spoke of identity. I was secure knowing that I was who I was based off of my values, my decisions and my actions.
When my parents divorced, my mother, my siblings and I relocated to Boston. I went from feeling secure with who I was as a biracial child to being thrown into a system that perpetuated the idea that your race is who you are, defining you in a way that groups you with others (sometimes) unfairly. If you looked latina, you had to speak Spanish and have an accent when speaking English. Did I mention that it was an accepted idea that, as a latina, you would be impregnanted by the next Jose or Juan in your life? If you were a teenage woman of brown or black skin, you had to be bossy so that no one would fight you. Your tongue was sharper than a knife. Did I mention that you too would give birth to a child whose father would most certainly not be there? These were the constant judgments that I felt and experienced all throughout my high school years. I saw myself shift into a teenager that was trying to find herself during a time where no one told me that I could just be my brand of me– accepting my race as a foundation for where my family came from but realizing that it did not define who I was or who I would become.
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At one point, I got sick of trying to be “black” or “hispanic”, as I could never be fully accepted as both by society. Our need to constantly box people in is unnerving and frustrating. I’ve seen so many of my peers give in to these stereotypes, judgments, and misconceptions surrounding their race and it breaks my heart every time to hear about the Trayvon Martins, the Michael Browns and the Tamir Rices. But one thing seems to be the common thread with many, if not most, of these cases: these teens were trying to fit an identity of themselves that has been hyped up by the society and the media. If the rappers and the gangbangers are the models that our children are watching, can we blame these teens for “dressing the part”? Our children have become puppets, walking zombies pretending to be something that they are not but that they can identify with because of the color of their skin, all in the hopes of trying to figure out who they are and where they fit into the world.
I say all of this to say this:
PARENTS, lets encourage our children to go against the grain. Have you been to the Museum of Fine Arts with your children? Or what about the Museum of Science? Encourage their thinking process by making learning FUN. Inspire them to be different and to be accepting of all races, cultures and nationalities no matter what they may hear down the line. Empower them to learn about the history of their ancestors, however good or bad, so that they can see how far their family roots go in order to unlock their own potential.
TEENS, think long and hard about your actions and their ripple effects. Every move you make can make or break your future. Every decision you make, good or bad, you must own up to. Consider whether or not you want to make a mark on the world and go for it. Be yourself and do not be afraid to be weird. Believe in yourself. And if no one else tells you this, I believe in you.
Let’s stop defining people by their nationality, by their race, or by their culture. Instead, let us show the world that identity is a culmination of a foundation in our familial ties, our values, and our actions. Give all children you come into contact with the security in knowing that figuring out their identity is a process and support them through their highs and their lows.
After all, Barack Obama is the President of the United States. He created an identity that got him that far. That could be your child some day.
