FINAL DRAFT

Rorke Hardy

12/4/12

Writing Composition 2

            The main issue of bi-racialism in regards to people, who are actually of mixed race, is the loss of cultural security and in many cases a feeling of alienation. The mix of the two or more different spheres of race can make an individual feel at times that he or she is being pulled in different directions, a feeling that can be bewildering and highly unsettling. On the other hand, being bi-racial is an exciting and different experience, and some individuals embrace this difference with a sense of pride and individuality. In regards to my personal experience as someone coming from two different racial backgrounds I can testify to this personally. Originally growing up being raised by a single black mother in a primarily African American neighborhood, and then transitioning to living with my white father and stepmother in an almost entirely Caucasian community was a difficult and awkward transition. It wasn’t quite as if I had been planted on a different planet but the differences were definitely prevalent, and sometimes I wouldn’t even realize that things were done otherwise in the different environments until much later as a young adult.

            When I first moved to Bay Village to live with my father and my half-siblings I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had spent weekends in the community, gone to church, and even played a few summer sports there. I knew a few of the streets, and the organized streets and formal homes were not too different from a few of the neighborhoods around where I had lived with my mother. The house that my father lived in was relatively new, they had only been there around two years but I knew my way around the rooms and halls and felt reasonably comfortable there. School was a different matter. Though I knew a few kids from sports and church and the like, nearly all the faces were mysteries, and more than a few of the eyes that noticed me were hostile. I would soon learn that I dressed a bit differently, acted a bit differently and most importantly, talked differently. Nearly the entire library of lingo and slang that I had managed to compile over my past four years of elementary school was not only worthless, it was weird. The most specific and amusing example I can remember was the word “Jake.” Back in Shaker Heights ‘Jake’ meant police or ‘lame’ or ‘weak.’ “Man that’s Jake!” was a commonly heard statement in my old school and so imagine my laughter when I actually met a kid named Jake. It took several minutes of angry convincing by the kid for me to actually believe that his name was actually Jake. Needless to say Jake and his friends didn’t like me much, and rarely talked to me until high school.  So far I have failed to mention the most unnerving thing about Bay Village to me; there were no black people. Back when I lived with my mother on the East Side of Cleveland all of my best friends were African American and I had no real white friends. Sure I had white acquaintances and people I played on the monkey bars with, but no one whose house I went to, or whose parents made me dinner. I think at this point in my life I viewed myself as African American but when I looked in the mirror I wasn’t confused or angry that my skin was lighter than my friends, I just simply accepted it. I think this is why I never view race as an object or an issue but only as what people make it. By this I mean I think that all the problems and issues that are associated with race are simply created by other people. When I hung out with Duane and Devon in Shaker Heights and when I hung out with Mike and Ted in Bay Village, I never thought about their race in relation to mine, or what the color of their skin was. They are my friends and this is the main characteristic that I define them by. I realize that I have been very privileged in my life in terms of racial relations. When I was younger my African American friends and me were not even concerned with the nuances or racial and cultural differences. Similarly when I moved to Bay Village I was probably accepted whole heartedly because I appear so white. The color of my skin is very light for a bi-racial person and I have come to learn that there are two major downfalls to this being the case. The first is that I actually at times feel as though African Americans discriminate me and do not see me as truly “black”. When I let them know about my mixed heritage, they treat me no differently than a regular Caucasian person. While I did say this was a downfall, it is in some ways a bit of a blessing. I would find it odd and a bit disheartening if I was to tell them I was half-black and then they accepted me with gusto and a kin man ship they wouldn’t have even thought to show if I had not told them. In this way I am being treated as who I am, without the racial connections that wouldn’t even exist had I not volunteered the information. The second problem is almost the opposite of the first, and that is that when I don’t tell people about my racial makeup, they reveal racist opinions or attitude that I would not have known about had I not told them. This may sound like a good thing, sort of an early warning system, but in fact it can be quite saddening. I have met many people whom I thought to be kind good people, but later as they grew more comfortable with me, they would tell me their thoughts on African Americans sometimes with something as simple as a statement. This was always a disappointment, and my relationships with these people rapidly grew stale and I rarely ever hung around them for long. Moments like these help me realize the importance that some people place on skin color and “race”. Sad to say this is the least of some children’s problems and in many ways I had it easy.

“Being homeschooled didn't spare them the racist commentary or behavior of neighbors, friends and acquaintances, particularly as they became teenagers and hence, potential boyfriends and girlfriends. Often, white parents forbade or discouraged their children's romantic interest in my children and disapproved even their friendships. Black children and other children of color also often rejected my kids or excluded them in various ways.”

It amazes me every time that, without even knowing someone’s background or personality, you can judge them on the street because of the way that they were born. It is a strange piece of human nature.

            As I have said before, being of mixed race and heritage can sometimes feel as if you are drifting on a lifeboat watching ships go by and while you move with them, you find yourself lagging behind. The most important factor in coping with this feeling is your parents. In this I have been truly blessed as my parents have been nothing but supportive and loving since I was born. My mother has made sure that I see my African American heritage and I have gone to many Kwanza gatherings with her. She has always reminded me to be proud of whom I am no matter what. My father though is definitely my source of strength, and his kindness has kept me going. He has always supported my mother’s ideas of racial recognition and has made sure that I see the importance in my Welsh side as well. Without them both there to keep me on an even keel, I am not so sure I would have turned out the way I have.  I’ve never talked to my parents about the reactions they got from people while they were raising me, but it must’ve been difficult. I know my mother was constantly asked if I was her child, and in one incident at the mall was even asked by a police officer if I was her legitimate son. My father grew up in a rural community not far from Athens, and I know his family was initially disapproving of his marriage. However I love my grandparents unconditionally and they have always treated me with same love as any of cousins or siblings. Cheryl Lindsey Seelhoff experienced similar situations and wrote about it in her article Motherhood as an Act of Revolution:  On Raisin Bi-Racial Children;

“As the years passed, I was targeted for police harassment for being a white-mom-drving-with biracial kids in an old van, and so, according to profiling, possibly prostituted or dealing drugs. I was targeted for employment discrimination by an employer who, after a company dinner, confronted me for having failed to tell her before I was hired that my husband was black.”

Instances like these are common among parents with bi-racial children, and I think they are perfect examples of the saying: actions speak louder than words. While some people may claim to be accepting of mixed race marriages and child-rearing, it is simply a façade, one that they use to appear ‘socially accepting’ while at the same time burying their hate inside themselves. I have experienced this more within the African American community than in the Caucasian ones, simply because I am more light skinned. To many African Americans I am not truly ‘Black’ because they believe I have not experienced any of the racial discrimination that comes with being dark-skinned. My ‘blackness’ is put into question and I am socially out casted. I have experienced this multiple times when going to church with my mother, where I spend the hour and a half sermon feeling the stares on my back, and counting down the minutes until we can leave. The most recent example I have of this was at my cousin’s funeral in October, where I remained the only light-skinned person in the room. It was an extremely uncomfortable situation, with more than a few people coming up and asking me who I was with when my mother was giving her condolences to various family members. I have always been estranged from that side of my family tree, mostly due to the fact that my mother has moved out of the impoverished neighborhood that most of them still live in. So even people who I am related to by blood did not recognize me and some were offended that I was there. If there is one thing that I have learned by being bi-racial, it is that racism goes both ways. While Caucasians have an obsession with ‘whiteness’ that is personified by the Ku Klux Klan, African Americans are just as obsessed with ‘blackness’ which is personified by the Black Panthers. What the two groups have in common is that neither approve of my existence. So to me, they are both equally ignorant, and I believe the Black Panthers are only glorified by America’s guilt over the 200 year old sin of slavery.

                Growing up bi-racial has given me a very different view on life. While some of the mistakes and culture crossings I have made are humorous, others are slightly disturbing and upsetting. However I have been able to take it all with a grain of salt, and knowing that my parents, family and friends love me for who I am is a huge factor in this positive feeling. They give me the confidence to be comfortable with who I am no matter what my skin color is. I hope that someday the world will stop using labels like ‘black’ and ‘white’ competitively and aggressively and simply accept their skin color as a sign of beauty, one that can be shared with all races. And on that day, I hope that people can recognize me as not ‘half-black’ or ‘half white’ but simply address me as ‘Rorke’ as an acknowledgement of who I am as a person, and not my genetics.

References:

Seelhoff C. Motherhood as the Work of Revolution: On Raising Bi-Racial Children. Off Our Backs [serial online]. 2006;(1):49. Available from: JSTOR Arts & Sciences VI, Ipswich, MA. Accessed December 13, 2012.

Bonilla-silva E. From bi-racial to tri-racial: Towards a new system of racial stratification in the USA. Ethnic And Racial Studies [serial online]. n.d.;27(6):931-950. Available from: Social Sciences Citation Index, Ipswich, MA. Accessed December 13, 2012.

Kennedy R. A Case Study of a Bi-Racial Student At-Risk. [serial online]. November 1, 1993;Available from: ERIC, Ipswich, MA. Accessed December 13, 2012.