I was born in England. I lived with my mother in a community that was predominantly white. I was brought up thinking, and knowing, that everyone, no matter what race, was equal. Furthermore, that everyone should be accepted. Who would think anything other than that, being the child of a Caucasian mother and an African American father, as I am? Acceptance and belonging have always been an important matter in my life. I was taught that no one was better than me and that I was not better than anyone else. I grew up oblivious to the fact that others saw me as different. In fact, I did not know myself that I was different until my mother married when I was 4 years old. She married an African American man whom, until I was seven, I thought to be my biological father. After her marriage, I noticed that unlike most of my playmates, my parents came from two different races. That was just the way things were to me, and I accepted it with ease. However, as I have grown, I have realized that not everyone is as open as I am. My early childhood is one of many happy memories. Bad memories are few and far between, yet one stays imprinted in my mind. The time was my first year of school in England (the equivalent of kindergarten in the American education system). A few friends and I were playing outside. I went over to a girl who was sitting by herself and asked her if she would like to play. She looked at me with her nose turned up and said, "I can't play with you because you're black." It was at that very moment that I realized that I was "different" from all the other children on the playground. Being a child, I did not realize the politics behind the statement. In fact, I did not understand at all. All I knew was that it made me sad to think that the girl in the playground did not want to play with me. After that, I did not think much of the situation. Besides, who has time to worry when she is that young? A child's foremost priority is to have fun. We moved to the United States when I was seven because my mother's husband was in the military. At the first military installation we went to, we stayed for about four years. I attended one of the two schools on the installation. All the children I played with tended to be the ones who lived around me. Race was never a factor. One might say I lived a sheltered life, but ignorance is bliss. We moved in the middle of my fifth grade year. We relocated to an Air Force base in North Carolina. Again, my choice in friends depended on their proximity to where I lived. It was not until I reached high school that I noticed how segregated people were. I would walk into the lunch room and see most students sitting with other peers from their same ethnic group. My own personal experience, however, was a little bit different. As I made new friends in my classes, I felt like I was more accepted by Caucasians. I associated with African Americans, but the majority of my friends were Caucasian. When I heard statements from African Americans such as, "Is it because I'm black?” Any time they encountered hardships or opposition, I took the statements to be more for a humorous effect, rather than as statements that came from the heart. Besides, I was friends with many Caucasians, and I had not yet come across any discrimination from them since I had lived in North Carolina. Even my stepfather, an African American man who was raised in the south, is laid-back about the subject of prejudices and discriminations. I have never heard him complain about how his ancestors were slaves or that he thought he deserved compensation for what was done to "his people." Nevertheless, I must admit that I was naïve because I had the idea in my mind that young people my age were over racism. I thought racism was a thing of the past. Everyone seemed to get along fine. The only sort of discrimination I was exposed to was from the African American girls in my classes. They would make rude comments such as, "Why does she dress like she's white?", "Why does she talk like that?", or "Why does she act like that?" All these remarks struck me as ignorant. How can one dress or act like a certain ethnic group? That is absurd. You are who you are, and that is all there is to it. My parents would explain to me that the girls were simply being envious; consoling friends would say that the girls were "hating" because I spoke like an educated human being, and not in ebonics. And, ultimately, their actions amounted to nothing more than jealousy. The more I tried to steer away from the girls' rude statements, the more I found myself fitting in with Caucasians. At the end of the school semester, I would be faced with more obstacles. Even a task as routine as taking a test turned out to be stressful. As with most state mandated and college entrance exams, the tests always began with registration questions that each student is required to fill out. They were the usual: birthdate, social security number, address, and gender. Some questions were pre-answered, and the proctor would ask the students to check over their information and alert him (or her) if anything was to be changed. On the question of ethnicity, mine would be labeled as African American or Caucasian. But to me, the option "Other" seemed more appropriate. Whenever I made a point to say that this particular question was incorrect, everyone in the room would try to start a disturbance. Classmates would try to pressure me into choosing one or the other. Then they would attempt to start rumors that I myself was racist. That to me was just bizarre. How could I deny one of my heritages by choosing one over the other? Gradually, the situation started to really bother me. I felt confused, as if I was supposed to identify myself with one or the other. I started to reevaluate my relationships with people. I even began to doubt myself. One of many important needs in life is to feel a sense of belonging. Where did I fit in? Where was I supposed to fit in? I started to feel like African Americans did not want to include me. I began to think that they were too self-absorbed and still dwelled on the past. I felt a certain bitterness towards them start to form in me, and then came a turning point. Up until this year, I had not really viewed life from an African American's perspective, so to speak. Like many typical teenagers, I have a boyfriend. I have been dating my current boyfriend for six months. Nothing unusual in this you would say, right? But to some people, the fact that this boyfriend of mine is African American apparently disturbs them. Whenever we are together, I see the disproving faces of elders and dirty looks from others. At school my friends ask me, "Why are you dating a black guy? You know how they are." People are so quick to judge, even on things as trivial as a person's appearance. Just because someone chooses to wear baggy pants, wears excessive jewelry, or dresses like a thug doesn't mean that the individual is uneducated, a drug addict, or a potential shoplifter. And, although not for the first time in my life, this discrimination is coming from my Caucasian friends, friends that I seemed to connect with so well, the ones that were supposed to be accepting and unbiased. All of this seemed all too surreal. I have even walked into a store with my boyfriend and have witnessed, first-hand, what it is like to be denied service because of discrimination based on ethnicity. Having a boyfriend of African American ethnicity for the first time, I have learned to open my eyes to things that I never would have realized before and have begun to understand the rationale behind people's behaviors and feelings. Since he comes from a family that is financially well off and strongly based educationally, we relate to each other in several ways. He has told me the reason why some African Americans act in the way they do is because some still do not see life through a transparent eye, but through vision that has been blurred by the negative upbringing and principles placed upon them by their parents; the same is true for Caucasians. Also, he has said that people particularly resent others of mixed ethnicities, such as Caucasian and African American, because it is combination of two races that have a past of darkness and gloom. This resentment is passed down from generation to generation because lack of education leaves people with no other way to deal with the situation but in ignorance. Their rejection of people who are unlike them stems from their own confusion of the perception of the world today. So life is not as candy-coated as I initially thought it was. So everyone is not as unprejudiced as I am. Yet, despite the confusion of where I am supposed to fit into society, I hold my head high and accept myself for who I am, and I try to accept everyone else in the same way. From my own personal experiences, I have learned not to judge a book buy its cover or for any other reason, be it race, creed, handicap, religion, or sexual preference. Just as many different ethnicities exist in the world, many religions exist as well. Nonetheless, we are all seen as God's children. Acceptance for others, as well as for myself, is, and will always be, a value of utmost importance to me.
