Being mixed or biracial means I grew up learning about and experiencing diversity every single day. I got to experience multiple cultures from a first hand viewpoint. It was more than just seeing my mom’s side of the family or my dad’s; it was seeing how one culture does things, like celebrating a holiday, versus the other. With my dad being black and my mom being white I was able to experience how each side of the family expressed themselves at weddings, funerals, family reunions, holidays, sleepovers with my cousins, and how they all went about their everyday lives. I saw the differences and the similarities between two separate, and sometimes clashing, cultures. I truly had the unique opportunity to experience the best of two different worlds.
Where Do I Belong?
There is a downside to being mixed (or biracial) that I have experienced. Now, I am in no way saying that my experience is the same for everyone; just because this is how I feel doesn’t mean this is how it is for every person who is made up of more than one race. For me though, it was hard to figure out where I fit in. Anytime I hung out with my cousins on the white side of my family it was always noticeable that I wasn’t white. Of course, it didn’t help that they lived in a small town; I think my cousin who graduated the same year as me had a class size of just under 80 with one black student. Prior to that graduation I don’t ever remember seeing another black, or any non-white person honestly, in the entire town. The older I got the more noticeable this became to me. It was awkward, unsettling, and honestly a little scary. If you don’t understand why it would be frightening to be the only non-white person in a whole town go watch the movie ‘Get Out’ and then come back to this article. For everyone who does get it, let’s keep going.
I spent a lot of time with my cousins on my mom’s side of the family because we were all close in age to each other. But, it was obvious my siblings and I were different from them. They never made us feel that way but, again, being the only non-white in a whole town is unsettling. In my city, at my schools, even at places like the Target near my parent’s house there were lots of people who weren’t white. Even on my block there were other non-white families. I didn’t feel out of place there until I got to middle school. That is when it became apparent that not only was I different from white people, but I was also different from black people. Middle school is when I was first told that I ‘talked white’ and ‘dressed white’ and ‘acted white’. I’ll give white folks this: most of them that are racist were pretty quiet about it until Obama became president; this obviously intensified under Trump. The black people I spent time around were quick to point out my ‘white ways’ but they still accepted me. In high school and in the Army it was more of the same; black people may have pointed out my speaking patterns but they always accepted me as one of them.
Minnesota ‘Nice’
I grew up in the suburbs of Minneapolis. You’ve likely heard of Minneapolis, they are the city infamous for the murder of George Floyd in 2020. And, let’s not forget the murder of Amir Locke earlier this year (Daunte Wright was killed by Brooklyn Center police, in 2021, this is also a suburb of Minneapolis but not the one I live in). So what’s it like growing up in a predominantly white state that became nationally known for the killing of an unarmed black man? Not great! I was born in San Diego, CA and moved to Minnesota when I was 5 years old. Both of my parents are from MN and my dad had the opportunity to work as a police officer in Minneapolis. Yes, that same city that keeps coming up in such a bad way. My dad later went on to be the first black police officer for the Bloomington, MN police department where he eventually retired. Fun fact, I became the first black female employee of the Bloomington police department in August 2018 when I started as a 911 dispatcher (I no longer work there).
Despite the state’s tagline being ‘Minnesota Nice’, it’s actually not.
This state is highly racist and you don’t have to travel to the boonies to see or experience it. You don’t even have to have ever been here to know it; when I was in the Army any time I told another black soldier I was raised in Minnesota they would always ask, “Do you have black people there?”. It started to become embarrassing to tell anyone I lived in Minnesota and, in fact, would preface my answer to ‘where are you from?’ with the statement that I was born in California. Minnesota might be a blue state politically but I’ve run across enough ‘Let’s go Brandon’ fools to know differently. I work at a pretty liberal leaning place and just this morning I parked next to a truck with that sticker on it.
I Identify as Black
I’m 36 years old and I’m finally comfortable stating that I identify with being black more than I do with being white. Why? Because the one thing I’ve learned about this country is that if you look even remotely non-white you will be treated as such. I’ve never lived life as a white woman because no one has ever looked at me and thought that I was one. Granted I’m pretty light skinned (especially in these gross Minnesota winters) and when my hair is straight there are some who might think I’m a white lady with a tan but usually people assume I’m something else. Hispanic is what I get most from anyone not black. Funny thing, black people always tend to recognize their own. Now, that doesn’t mean I ignore or disown the white part of me; how could I? I would have to ignore or disown myself and that’s just ridiculous. Besides, most of my friends are white, my mom is white, my daughter is partly white, most of my co-workers are white and I’ve dated mostly white men. I don’t identify as being a white person because that’s not an experience I can say I have ever had.
