This encounter has not been an uncommon experience for me. That’s why the first 21 years of my life have felt like a never-ending tug of war. And quite honestly, I’m not looking forward to being dragged through the mud for the rest of my life. My white friends want me to act one way – white. My African-American friends want me to act another – black. Pleasing them both is nearly impossible and leaves little room to be just me.
The politically correct term for someone with my racial background is “biracial” or “multiracial.” My mother is fair-skinned with blond hair and blue eyes. My father is dark-complexioned with prominent African-American features and a head of woolly hair. When you combine the genetic makeup of the two, you get me – golden-brown skin, semi-coarse hair and a whole mess of freckles.
Someone once told me I was lucky to be biracial because I have the best of both worlds. In some ways this is true. I have a huge family that’s filled with diversity and is as colorful as a box of Crayolas. My family is more open to whomever I choose to date, whether that person is black, white, biracial, Asian or whatever. But looking at the big picture, American society makes being biracial feel less like a blessing than a curse.
One reason is the American obsession with labeling. We feel the need to label everyone and everything and group them into neatly defined categories. Are you a Republican, a Democrat or an Independent? Are you pro-life or pro-choice? Are you African-American, Caucasian or Native American? Not everyone fits into such classifications. This presents a problem for me and the many biracial people living in the United States. The rest of the population seems more comfortable when we choose to identify with one group. And it pressures us to do so, forcing us to deny half of who we are.
Growing up in the small, predominantly white town of Maryville, Tenn., I attended William Blount High School. I was one of a handful of minority students – a raisin in a box of cornflakes, so to speak. Almost all of my peers, many of whom I’ve known since grade school, were white. Over the years, they’ve commented on how different I am from other black people they know. The implication was that I’m better because I’m only half black. Acceptance into their world has meant talking as they talk, dressing as they dress and appreciating the same music. To reduce tension and make everyone feel comfortable, I’ve reacted by ignoring half of my identity and downplaying my ethnicity.
My experience at UT has been very similar. This time it’s my African-American peers exerting pressure to choose. Some African-Americans on campus say I “talk too white.” I dress like the boys in white fraternities. I have too many white friends. In other words, I’m not black enough. I’m a white “wanna-be.” The other day, an African-American acquaintance told me I dress “bourgie.” This means I dress very white – a pastel-colored polo, a pair of navy chinos and hiking boots. Before I came to terms with this kind of remark, a comment like this would have angered me, and I must admit that I was a little offended. But instead of showing my frustration, I let it ride, and I simply said, “Thank you.” Surprised by this response, she said in disbelief, “You mean you agree?”
On more occasions than I dare to count, black friends have made sweeping derogatory statements about the white race in general. “White people do this, or white people do that.” Every time I hear them, I cringe. These comments refer not just to my white friends but to my mother and maternal grandmother as well. Why should I have to shun or hide my white heritage to enhance my ethnicity? Doesn’t the fact that I have suffered the same prejudices as every other African-American – and then some – count for something?
I do not blame my African-American or white friends for the problems faced by biracial people in America. I blame society for not acknowledging us as a separate race, I am speaking not only for people who, like myself, are half black and half white, but also for those who are half white and half Asian, half white and half Hispanic, or half white and half whatever. Until American society recognizes us as a distinct group, we will continue to be pressured to choose one side of our heritage over the other.
Job applications, survey forms, college-entrance exams and the like ask individuals to cheek only one box for race. For most of my life, I have marked BLACK because my skin color is the first thing people notice. However, I could just as honestly have marked WHITE. Somehow when I fill out these forms, I think the employers, administrators, researchers, teachers or whoever sees them will have a problem looking at my face and then accepting a big x by the word WHITE. In any case, checking BLACK or WHITE does not truly represent me. Only in recent years have some private universities added the category of BIRACIAL or MULTIRACIAL to their applications. I’ve heard that a few states now include these categories on government forms.
One of the greatest things parents of biracial children can do is expose them to both of their cultures. But what good does this do when in the end society makes us choose? Having a separate category marked BIRACIAL will not magically put an end to the pressure to choose, but it will help people to stop judging us as just black or just white and see us for what we really are – both.
