If you’ve never paused when asked to identify your heritage on a health form, you live a blessed life.
As a half-black, half-white woman I’ve been asked to identify my race on paper, to acquaintances, and to perfect strangers more times than I can count.
It’s easy for me to identify my racial heritage. Those are facts.
But, my racial identity — how I see myself — has become more and more vague as I’ve grown older. And I don’t see a problem with it.
My First Identity: Mulatto
Did people know the origin of that word in the ’90s…
From what I could see, there were 2 main reactions when people realized that this pandemic was going to last for more than a few weeks.
Some people decided that quarantine was going to be a restorative time. A time to reflect, relax, and recharge.
Others modified existing goals, set new goals, and then hit them hard.
I wanted to be the latter. After all, I am the resident goal-setting expert in my house.
Instead, I found myself fully enjoying the solitude and quiet.
I stepped back from social media for a few months. I read books about motivation, healing…
A few years ago I took my 2 very young children to a community Canada Day barbeque. After waiting in a huge line, I finally plopped down at a small table.
A woman across the table eyed my tan skin and dark, frizzy hair.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“I’m Canadian,” I told her.
Impatiently, she asked me where my parents were from.
“My dad is Canadian. My mom is Canadian, but she was born in St. Lucia, in the Caribbean.”
She nodded, gave me a satisfied smile, and sat up straighter in her chair. “Isn’t it so nice?”…
Woman, wife, mother, musician, wanna-be gardener and writer. Writing is easier than not writing.