A Question of Race

 The reality of race is that whether consciously or unconsciously we are all thinking about it.  I am just forced to think about a lot more than most, especially when I travel abroad. I have recently gotten it into my head that I must be some kind of  Johnny Appleseed. For where ever I travel, I spread the curious topic of race around me. Not because I go around pontificating about such deep subjects while on vacation, but because I have been given a burden, or perhaps a gift, of having at times a racially ambiguous appearance.  And when I am out of context, that context being the US of A, my appearance always begs the following questions: “Do you speak Spanish?” [No.] “Where are you from? [The US.] “Where are your parents from?” [The US.] “No, where are they from originally?” Here I could respond truthfully, and continue saying the US, but experience has taught me that that response would only leave my questioner confused, and both of us frustrated. So I help him along by giving him the answer to the question that he does not know how to ask, “I am African-American. I’m black.” In response I get a puzzled look and I continue to provide answers for questions that only linger in the air… “My father is biracial which means my grandmother is white and my grandfather was black. And my mother is an African American with a light complexion.” I find stating the facts to be the simplest way to clarify things and I leave the analysis up to the questioner. Because after all, “race is a social construct,” which means, just like beauty, it is in the eyes of the beholder.

Now it is only when I am in a new context and meeting new people that I even remember that to some people I don’t immediately look “African American” or “black.”  At first when I get some where new, I am actually always surprised that I have to play the above question and answer game multiple times . And no matter who I meet, eventually, they will ask me. And sometimes that gets annoying and I just want to get the explanation out of the way. So I will try to be proactive about it. People ask me, “Vanessa, what time it is?” And I say, “Well, as an African American I believe it is 2 o’clock.” Ok, not really.  More like, “Vanessa, do you want to go to a movie?” And I say  “Sure, but I’ll probably be the only black person for miles...” To which my new acquaintances just smile. Talking about race is never exactly subtle, but I try. And sometimes I don’t.

Most recently I was out to drinks with some new friends when, yet again, someone asked me about my background. I started to say, “My father is biracial which means…” And then I stopped abruptly.   I interrupted the friends chattering near me and gathered them close by, and with a small attentive group, I resumed, “Just so I don’t have to keep repeating myself … My father is biracial which means my grandmother is white and my grandfather was black.  And my mother is African American with a light complexion.”

“She’s an albino?” came a questioning voice from the crowd.  We erupted in laughter.

“No, stupid, it just means she has a light complexion, like Vanessa,” someone clarified.

And so it goes…

[Please note that this may be the first, but it is certainly not the last time that the topic of race will come up].