Growing up Biracial

When I was little, I had no idea I was different. I didn't see race or question what I was as a child. I was just me. I was surrounded by my brothers or sisters everyday. Some of us were light, medium tone or what I would call Caramel or Mocha, and others were dark. All of us came out looking different but we knew that we were siblings. I didn't question it. I didn't question my Dad nor my Mom.

My mom told us that our dad came from Dominican Republic. He had a thick accent, olive oil skin, and dark hair. But my mom was just black. I didn't put the two together or think about how it would make us so different than everybody else. The most remarks I got as a small child was my hair. It was considered to be very good and fine. However, my grandmother was Cherokee and I just assumed it came from my grandma. It could have came from either side. But I did not pay attention to it.

The first time I realized I was different was when I was in the 3rd grade. People would make remarks on my hair. Some were positive and some where negative Plus, my parents were very active. They would come to PTAs, meetings, and so forth. Kids would come up to me and ask why my Dad talked like that or they would constantly remind me that my Daddy was Mexican. I knew my Dad wasn't Mexican and so what if he was. I just ignored it but in the inside it made question who I really was and why people cared so much. Why did my race matter so much to everyone else.

From that grade on, it got worse. A boy would constantly come near our house and would yell for us to go back home. Even though we were home. Comments like that would make me so angry. Another time was when I was around the age of 10, riding a church van, a boy spit in my face and called me a nigger. It shocked me. Mainly, because they boy was Latino. However, my sisters and brothers who were light skin, they acknowledged. Right then in there, I realized it wasn't my race, it was my color, the color of my skin.

All of this hate from others especially my own kind, Blacks and Latinos made me so confused. If I couldn't fit in with the Blacks and if I couldn't fit in with the Latinos, where was I supposed to fit. Back then, the town where I lived had only Whites, Blacks, and a few Latinos. We barely had individuals who were mixed. Why do I have to pick a side. I loved my parents and both races just the same.

When I got to high school, I just hung out with the blacks because that's where I felt more comfortable and more accepted. Even though, I still felt misplaced. I didn't fit in with the blacks a 100 percent nor the Latinos. I hate feeling like I had to choose. Either I am this or that or I am not. But in actuality I was both with a hint of Cherokee.

I can definitely say I struggled with trying to figure out where I belonged. Now, that I am older and have more knowledge, I don't choose. I acknowledge both because I love both. I am Dominican and Black. I am both. However, living in America I feel like I constantly have to choose one. An example is when I have to fill out paperwork that ask what race or ethnicity I am. I dislike on so many levels because I am biracial. Its okay though, I hope that one day I will not have too.