Last week I received an email from a fellow blogger who noticed that I often refer to myself as a "bi-racial gay man" as opposed to a "black gay man" on this blog. This blogger also considers himself multi-cultural and was interested in picking my brains about my experiences having grown up bi-racial. It's interesting that he contacted me, because I've been meaning to write a post about this topic for quite some time.
Biologically, I am of black and white ethnicity mixed. Now I realize this isn't a particularly uncommon or exotic mix these days. There are plenty of us walking the face of this globe. And what person, white or black, doesn't have a little bit of the other in them somewhere down the line of the ancestry. In my observations, people of black/white mixed ethnicity tend to identify strongly with one or the other. In my case, however, I lay full claim to being "bi-racial" when describing my cultural background. This isn't so much because of my biological mix, because I never knew my biological parents. I identify with being bi-racial because of the cultural environments I was exposed to as a child.
I'm not white?! Whatyu talkin' bout, Momma?
I had seen black folks on the t.v. After all, my favorite childhood show was Diff'rent Strokes starring Gary Coleman. But I must have been about the age of five the first time I ever saw another black person in real life. My rural hometown of New Philadelphia, Ohio had a less than one percent minority population. And one afternoon, while shopping for groceries, my mom and I came across dark-skinned black man. There he was in the produce aisle. Just like Arnold and Willis on t.v., only older and bigger. I gasped and pointed, "Mommie, look at that man!" She embarrassingly grabbed my hand and rushed to the checkout.
On the ride home my mother explained that it wasn't polite to point at people, especially when they look different than us. Furthermore, she told me that I was different from her and daddy because I was adopted. I was what they call Mulatto (term used to describe bi-racial people in the 1970s now considered politically incorrect). I was half black and half white. I'm not sure I understood what all of that meant at the time, but I think that experience spawned my fascination for understanding cultural identity.
I only got to live with my white family until the age of 10. My adoptive father turned out to be an abusive alcoholic which lead to a messy divorce. A few years later my adoptive mother lost custody of me and my younger sister when mental illness took over her life.
After being removed from my home by the county department of children's services, I spent a few years bouncing from foster home to foster home. During this time I was exposed to other children with that had suffered unimaginable levels of neglect and abuse. Looking back, I now realize that their stories were incredible and I often wonder where they are today. I think this is when I developed an interest in learning about how people live their lives and what experiences have shaped who they've become.
While living in these foster homes I began to demonstrate violent fits of anger that stemmed from my confusion over why I was in this situation. When I was 12, my caseworker decided that I had too much rage and needed to be sent to a group home for juvenile delinquents. The plan at this point was that I was to remain there until I was legally considered an adult. Come up in "the system" so to speak. What family in this predominately white, rural area would want to take in an angry black boy who was nearly a teenager?
Becoming black.
Just a month before my 13th birthday an unthinkable blessing occurred. A family, The Morrows, indicated an interest in taking me and my baby sister in. The Morrow family also happened to be one of the very few black families in town. At first, living with the Morrows was an entire culture shock to me. They ate food for which my palette had not acquired a taste. They listened to music in which I was unfamiliar. They used dialect and terminology in their language that I had a difficulty deciphering. And I was totally oblivious to the monumental significance of the Civil Rights Movement that impacted the world in which they lived. I may not have realized it then, but I was being introduced to my black roots. A year later the Morrows took permanent custody and officially adopted my sister and me.
It may not have been the ideal family situation, but I got the first-hand experience of having been raise half of my childhood in a white environment and the other half in a black environment. To me, being bi-racial is much more than just the color of my skin. It's the "culturization" that I was exposed to. I don't feel comfortable identifying myself as black because I don't have the same experiences that black men who grew up in black environments have. What's more, even when I did live in a black environment we still resided in a small, predominately white town, and I continued to be surrounded by white culture. In high school practically all of my friends were white. In fact, in a graduating class of 280 students only three of us were people of color: there was myself; my neighbor LaRae who was black, and an Indian girl whose father was a doctor at the town's only hospital.
Everything isn't black and white after all.
My culturalization is part white and I think that is reflected on this blog at times. For example, you may have noticed that when I post music my tastes tend to lean a little more towards Rock and Pop as opposed to R&B. That doesn't mean I don't like R&B, it just means that I favor the sound I developed an ear for as a child and adolescent. It's what I heard at school dances, it's what all my friends were listening to (I still get criticized about this from some of my black family members). But I also think that it's clearly evident on here that I fully embrace my black side as well.
I'm so grateful for having been exposed to my black roots. I think it's spared me from being naive on issues about race. If I may make a bold statement: In my observation of bi-racial people who have grown up embracing only their white heritage (and keep in mind this may be of no fault of their own - just circumstances) it seems as though they're not fully aware of who they are and may believe that they are equally viewed as being "one of them" (meaning being white). THAT IS JUST NOT REALITY. I JUST DON'T BELIEVE THIS IS HOW WHITE PEOPLE IN THIS COUNTRY VIEW PEOPLE OF MIXED ETHNICITY. And whenever I encounter a mixed person with this mindset I just want to take him into my arms and shake him and say "wake up baby, join reality." Because I know that when I walk into a job interview that I'm not seen as bi-racial or as one of them, I am simply another person of color interviewing for a job that's most likely already been promised to someone who is not a person of color. Anyways, I can go on and on about my experiences in the 9 to 5 world (and I will in future posts).
Essentially, what I'm saying here is that I have come to learn what it's like to be a person of color in America. I have not had the same experiences as a black man who grew up in the inner city, so I won't claim those experiences. I can only rely on my own experiences as I navigate this world in search of a life that pleases me.
