![]() ![]() Then, the summer before fourth grade, he switched to identifying as biracial. From kindergarten through about third grade, he would say he was African American. Like other mixed-race children, our son started his journey to figure out his racial identity early. Everyone in our neighborhood knew us as a family. Sure, the new crop of Yale grad students and junior faculty who moved in each year often looked askance when our son would yell “Mom” to me across grocery-store aisles, but they soon caught on. ![]() I weaned him just as he learned to say “Mama.” Now he could claim me as his own to the skeptics at the playground or when we were out running errands.įor the most part, the neighborhood in New Haven, Connecticut, where we lived for the first 11 years of our son’s life was a refuge from such skeptics. ![]() I stayed home with him until just before his first birthday: Nursing was my defense against strangers who assumed I was the nanny. My husband thought our newborn was albino the first time he cradled him in his arms. But when our son was born, I realized that no special power was going to help me see his African heritage. I could always claim my people, I thought. As the child of a white mother and a black father, I have whatever the equivalent is for being able to spot black people no matter how fair their skin or how European their features. Some queer people talk about the existence of “gaydar”-the ability to identify one of their own, whether they are out or closeted. Our daughter is much lighter than I am, and is often mistaken for Middle Eastern or Latina, but I cannot help but see traces of my paternal grandmother’s high cheekbones and wide nose in her round face. Our 13-year-old son looks white-blond-haired, blue-eyed, straight-nosed, thin-lipped, fair-skinned white-but he identifies as black. I am a black woman married to a white man. Read: Do conversations about race belong in the classroom? “How else will my new teachers know I’m black?”įor my husband and me, back-to-school night is not only about establishing what kind of parents we will be for the coming school year-it is also about establishing our son’s racial identity and sense of belonging. “You can’t miss back-to-school night!” he said. My son’s response was of the second variety, but with a particular twist. Most parents can expect one of two reactions from their children to this news: relief or a guilt trip. I recently confessed to my son that I would have to miss back-to-school night for a work trip. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |