Nineteen years ago, a white chocolate man and a dark chocolate woman came together and made me - a milk chocolate, American-Indian, wonder baby. The combination of the two polar races is quite a phenomenon. In fact, my older brother and I look nothing alike. Even our skin tones are bit different. For instance, I inherited my mom’s round face and petite stature, but my dad’s long limbs and thick hair. My brother, on the other hand, has a pointed nose like my father’s and crazy long, spider-like eyelashes similar to my mother’s. To say the least, our family photos are somewhat of a progression between the two races. But growing up looking vastly different from everyone else, including my family, has been quite interesting. I’ve been in many situations a purebred child would have missed out on. Here are a few things that my mocha skin has led me to believe:
1. People think your parents aren’t actually your parents.
My dad is as white as white can be. His glowing white legs could light up even the darkest of nights. So naturally, whenever we are seen together, no one would guess that we were related. I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve said bye to my dad and this has happened to me:
Friend: Who was that?
Me: My dad.
Friend: That's your dad??
Me: Yes.
Friend: Like your real dad??
For the longest time, I was naïve to the fact that we looked nothing alike. I never understood why no one would believe that he was my father. Eventually, the obvious finally dawned on me: the two of us look completely different. He is the white, vanilla frosting on a tall cake and I am the tan, hazelnut frosting on a much smaller cupcake.
2. People think you’re everything but what you actually are.
When I was five, my classmates thought I was African American because my skin did not match the color of the other sixteen kids in my class. When I was eight, I turned into a pacific islander because my hair was very long, very black, and very thick. When I was twelve, I moved to a town where everyone assumed that I must be Mexican because that was what half the population consisted of. With the number of times I’ve been mistaken for being Mexican, I should be fluent in Spanish by now! When I started a job at a local diner, I was also thought to be Chinese because my eyes were squinty when I smiled at customers. At eighteen, starting a new life as a college student, I am now supposedly Filipino. When I ask why they think I look Filipino, the response I usually get sounds something like this:
Friend: Honestly, I had no idea what you were. I just guessed something random.
When I finally tell people what I truly am – a perfectly crafted American/Indian cocktail – a look of surprise is usually what I am faced with. Then the next question:
Friend: Like… dot or feather?
Basically what I’ve learned from being an American-Dot-Feather-Indian-African-Hawaiian-Hispanic-Chinese-Filipino mutt child, is that I could check all the boxes on those forms you fill out prior to seeing the doctor, and no one would question me! Life on the edge is truly riveting.
3. People think you’re fascinating.
Being half brown and half white, and mixed to a creamy bronzed blend has caused people look at me like I’m some kind of mad science experiment gone wrong. When they find out I’m not just one, but two races, the questions never end.
Friend: Wait… so your mom is Indian?
Friend: Like from actual India?
Friend: And your dad is white?
Friend: Like from America?
Friend: How did they meet?
Friend: Why don’t you have a dot on your forehead?
Friend: Where’s your accent?
Friend: How much curry did you have this week?
Friend: Why are you here?
Friend: Can you speak Indian?
Friend: Why are you eating that burger?
Friend: There is cow in that burger!
Purebreds are hilarious. This little chocolate chip can be quite the celebrity at times.
Growing up mixed can be overwhelming in the most positive way. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t want to feel like they are worth a million and ten questions. So whether you’re black, white, brown, gray, purple, or green, being a mixed child is pretty fun. Because in the end, white sugar and brown cinnamon mixed together makes toast ten times better.
