Biracial, Mixed, Other?

Not a day goes by without being asked which box I check on applications or surveys. Not a day goes by without being asked “What are you?”. Not one. I understand people’s intentions behind these questions but it often leaves me confused and disheartened that a lot of people still don't understand the concept of someone being more than one race. I’m sure you’re wondering what my answer is…which box I check when filling out those applications. For the longest time, I checked the box that said African American or sometimes my mom would make me check both and then we would get questioned. It had to be one or the other. Confusing, am I right? Until recently, there was no option for people of more than one race. We were forced to choose. Are you black or are you white? For some, this may seem trivial. You’re probably wondering why can’t you just check the box you want. For me, someone who is always searching for the meaning and depth behind things, this meant having to choose between two ethnic backgrounds which make me who I am. Having to choose between certain privileges over others. Having to choose how I want to be seen rather than just “being”. Having to leave one race behind while embracing the other.

My hopes in writing this is not to make my life seem hard by any means. It’s not to gain sympathy. It’s not to exclude anyone. It’s not to make anyone feel bad for expressing their curiosity. This is more about waking people up to the fact that race does still matter. Those of us who have grown up with more than one race feel both sides and the weight both ethnicities carry. I hope when reading the rest of this, you’ll understand that even though your curiosity has great intentions and may just be that; curiosity, you’re bringing up a topic that has in the past forced us to choose between one half of us, over the other. I’m sure I will get the argument that the politically correct term is “multiethnic” however, that box doesn’t exist. When you find one, let me know! I also know being mixed or biracial doesn’t necessarily mean black and white. This is simply MY story.

I was too young to remember, but my mom would tell me stories about when I was a baby and how many people would stop her and ask her how I got my curly hair. Still to this day, I will have people ask me how I got my complexion or if my hair is naturally curly and “how it got that way”; as if I was manufactured in a lab and my parents got to choose what I was going to look like. Again, I understand some of it may be pure curiosity but it can make us feel alienated also. Like we automatically have to assign ourselves to a certain race because our physical appearance doesn’t match what you’re accustomed to. Growing up, I had friends from literally all over the world. I had a friend who was also mixed (black and white), another friend from El Salvador, another from India. I honestly never felt different growing up. I had a diverse group of friends, I spent equal time with both sides of my family and let me tell you, we are a melting pot of ALL ethnicities. I never questioned my identity. I had both black and white barbies LOL. It was was when I got older, probably around middle school when girls would start asking me “what are you?”. I can remember the first time I was asked this and I just sat there so confused as to what they were trying to get at. It was also during this time, I started to realize how interracial couples were often looked at in a negative light rather than a positive light. I started asking my mom questions. She mentioned a time when she went to Memphis along with my dad and my cousin. Her waitress, being African American didn’t serve her. This was in the 90’s and in the south where things were and still are so different. But I could see this beginning to have an effect on my life. I was beginning to wake up to the harsh reality that there are still people who choose to separate us because of the color of our skin. Or simply because we don’t fit their narrative of what we should look like. I was never given the “you’re different” talk from my parents. It was when somebody made me feel different that I began to ask questions.

Funny isn’t it? When I was little, nobody ever inquired about where I came from. As I got older, the more I felt people were trying to box me in, categorize me, question my identity and make race the center of the conversation rather than asking who are you as a person.

My grandmothers were the best of friends even though they came from two different worlds. I honestly thought everyone was like this. I thought everyone saw the world how I was raised to see it. Diverse. Not boring. Everyone created in the image of God. As sad as it is, I can name certain women who were disowned from their families because of who they loved. I can say I was bullied just based off my appearance. I have fear every time my dad leaves the house or if I haven’t heard from him. We have a rule that he can’t stop and get gas at night. I honestly don’t even like the fact he drives at night. On the contrary, I have a white mom who has been accused of being racist. I have a white mom who has friends that separate me from the conversation when talking about black people. “Olivia’s different”. I have to have conversations with my mom about white privilege and explain to her that sometimes we can’t just go to Walmart in small towns in the middle of nowhere without knowing where we are. I have best friends who are white. I have best friends who are black. When injustices happen, the conversations are always hard to have. Not because I’m afraid to side with what’s right versus what’s wrong. That’s never in question. These conversations however, force me to get uncomfortable.

For those of you reading this, please understand that being biracial means we’re literally more than one ethnicity. We feel normal until you make us not feel normal by trying to force us into identifying with one race over the other. We’ve already gone through the questions of why we can’t have hair like our moms (or dads), we’ve already had the boyfriends who forget we’re white just as much as we’re black, and if they have children with us, they’re going to have white children. We've already figured out which box to check. Stop trying to put us in another one. Embrace the fact that we embrace both cultures. We feel the pain of the injustices of blacks in America, we also understand that as white people we have to have a voice because we know sometimes that’s the only way blacks will be heard. We still feel weird when we’re the only ones in the room. Both white and black rooms. We ask ourselves in corporate America if we really do have the same opportunities or if we’re given those opportunities because literally half of who we are is ignored. We feel both extremes. The dualities are never NOT there. I don’t want to overgeneralize but you get the idea.

Please understand I am not trying to come across as the spokesperson for all mixed people. I am fully aware everyone was raised different in different environments and have different perspectives. As your biracial friend, what I’m saying is to please love us for ALL that we are. All that we bring to the table. Both sides. Don’t force us into saying we’re black. Don’t force us into saying we’re white. We already have a hard enough time finding and embracing our identity intertwined between those two polar opposites. That’s also what makes us beautiful. Thats why God created diversity. That’s why none of us are the same.

I encourage anyone reading this to take my experience into consideration, but also understand this is MY experience. I am simply putting my thoughts into writing. When the world gets loud with injustices, pandemics (Covid, we get the point wrap it up), and overstimulation of misinformation, I find that writing is the only way to cope. I hope you know this is just information. A peek inside my world. My two worlds. I hope this blog opens up healthy dialogue. I hope it encourages hard conversations around the dinner table. I hope it gives parents the freedom to let their kids be who they are. I hope it gives people perspective when they try to box us into one race and forget about identifying with the other. I hope it gives interracial couples courage. I hope it gives young children who have parents from two different worlds the wisdom to grow up knowing there’s power in their differences. There’s power in being human.