How It Feels To Be Mixed Me

I have been going back and forth on whether or not to write a blog about my being mixed for quite some time now. I would open up a blank template on my computer and stare at the glaring screen only to close it out and leave it the way I found it; blank. Part of me felt as though I needed to put into words what exactly it meant to be mixed. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn't quite know what it meant to be mixed. And perhaps I still don't know exactly, even after 21 years of living in this skin.

The reason I felt compelled to share these thoughts now, though my uncertainties still linger, is that through all the stories dealing with race currently circulating on the news and social media, I couldn't help but think about how my viewpoint as a biracial woman compares to those around me. I may not be able to pinpoint exactly what it means to be mixed but being mixed subconsciously impacts most every aspect of me.

Props to my parents for an ever-flowing list of things, but most importantly for giving me and my older brother a great childhood. I don't have any memory during my early childhood of being singled out due to my race by my mostly white peers. However, I knew that I differed in that fact that my parents had different colored skin. The beautiful thing about children is their ability to recognize differences but not necessary oppose others due to those differences. Meaning, my classmates knew I was not fully white but it was not a topic of conversation because it didn't need to be. The same for myself: I knew my skin was darker and my hair kinkier with curls, but I didn't dwell on those things because I didn't see any reason to.

Instead of finding our identity in our race, my mom taught us that your identity can only be found in Christ and Christ alone. It wasn't until years later that I would understand that statement.

She didn't hide the fact from us either that some people might treat us different because of the color of our skin. It wasn't until years later that I would understand that statement either.

As I entered into those dreaded preteen adolescent years I struggled deeply with self confidence issues. Like most girls, I wanted to be thinner and change various aspects of my physical self. But one thing I began to struggle the most with was being mixed. I hated my hair the way it wasn't flowy like all my friends. I hated my round nose covered with freckles. I hated that in class pictures, I was the odd ball with my yellow-toned skin.

As boys became an interest, I remember me and my friends giggling and interjecting on which guy we thought each other should date. Every time, I was set up with a black guy. It made me mad. Not that I didn't see myself dating a guy who was black, but rather they saw me and immediately thought I should only date guys with darker skin. I wanted to be like everyone else at my predominately white county school and just blend in, and once again my skin made me stand out. When one of my white friends would compliment the looks of a black guy, it was always mentioned that "he's attractive.. for a black guy" or "my parents would never let me date a black guy".

But wait.

These same people were the ones who welcomed me into their home and spoke nice words about my parents and befriended my whole family. Did they not see that my dad, a white man, married my mom, a black woman? Why was my parents' relationship something that my friends' parents did not want for their white daughters? Where does that leave me, the daughter of a biracial marriage?

I put away those thoughts deep in the back of my mind and carried on.

I remember going boating with my dad one sunny summer afternoon. Instead of going on the main strip of the river, we liked to stay on the creek in the country. My adventurous dad decided we would turn a different way and we found ourselves on a portion of the creek where houses were few and far between. I looked past the overgrown weeds and saw a small trailer with several confederate flags on display pinned to the aluminum siding, on the clothesline, and in the surrounding trees. I asked dad if we could go home. He didn't understand why but we did. This was several years ago, long before the debates on the confederate flag flooded the news and Facebook. But as a 14 year old mixed girl, a strange feeling whelmed inside me and I knew that I shouldn't be there.

My freshman year of college was the first time anyone had bluntly shown racism to me. I was out with one of my friends with some guys from her school. This was several years ago so I don't remember exactly what led to the incident (and frankly I wanted to forget what happened) but one of the guys began talking about how black and white people should not date or get married. The car grew silent because everyone knew I was mixed. One of the other guys finally spoke up and asked his friend to be quiet, saying "Don't you know Rebecca is mixed?" His friend laughed and said that he didn't care; he could say whatever he wanted to say whenever he wanted to say it.

I am a firm believer that there is a vast difference between a reason and an excuse. A reason answers the question why? but often times our reasons turn into excuses, which is an attempt to lessen  an offense and to justify our actions in a way that puts the blame away from ourselves. There is a reason why I felt mad when my friends only suggested black guys for me to date, why I was confused their parents were opposed to them dating black gentlemen, why I felt uncomfortable around the confederate flag, and why I cried when I got home after the guy bashed mixed relationships. It all goes back to race. As a child it never phased me, but children's innocence shields them from such feelings. Growing up, I tried to not make race an issue but subconsciously it was. We can claim that race doesn't matter, when in fact it does. But here is the difference: My mom was right when she told me and my brother that some people would treat us differently because we are mixed; I realized that soon enough. She was also right when she said our identity is found through Christ and Christ alone. I am not Rebecca The Mixed Girl. I am Rebecca, Christ-follower, who happens to be mixed. At the end of the day, we are all people. Not white people and black people, just people. That isn't to say we should overlook race. Race is a big part of each of us. It is a reason why we are the way we are in a lot of ways.

I may still not be able explain what it means to be mixed, but I think to everyone it may mean something different. But just as Zora Neale Hurston ended her great work How It Feels To Be Colored Me: "who knows?"

18 year old Becca was so dumb.

Hold on tight. I’m about to get sappy up in here.

I remember always rolling my eyes whenever people older than me would say, “Friendships are harder to keep once you graduate high school.” Growing up in the pin-sized town of Killen, Alabama, I was surrounded by the same quaint group of friends. We shared practically everything together. Even if all we did was sit around and watch paint dry, we were sitting around watching paint dry together. (We never actually watched paint dry but you understand my expression, right?) I always had several options of people who were willing to be my lab partner even if all I did was copy their answers, always had a group to sit with during snack break, and always had a group of friends to save me a seat in crowded assemblies.

It wasn’t until after we all went our separate ways that I truly realized how much I loved and appreciated our friendship.

I remember washing my hands in the girls’ bathroom when a very prominent, popular girl in my class began washing her hands beside me. As we both finished washing our hands she looked up at me and said, “I really admire you and the friendships you and your friends share. I really wish I had close friends like you have.” I can get awkward super duper fast. It’s like a reflex instinct. It’s like I become aware of every inch of my being and my arms feel 10 feet long and I have no idea how to even move them.  I’m sure I did some weird “uh” and “duh, um, er” noises before finally forming words. I don’t know what it is about being approached by people that turns me into a mess. Maybe it was because I was thrown so off guard. Here is the girl who everyone in the school knows, who wins everything she ever runs for, who would eventually go off and make a big name for herself at one of the largest schools in the state.  And this all-around stunner of a girl was jealous of me. I’m not sure what exactly I said back to her; I’m sure after stuttering out random noises I formed a sentence pertaining to how blessed I was to have such a close-knit group of friends. She smiled at me and walked out of the bathroom and with that, I walked out too and didn’t think twice about her statement until two years later.

Here I am: two years older. A lot of joys/crappy crappy crap/ stress/ laughs/ sobs can be sprinkled within such a short span of two years. I look back at the 18 version of myself and just laugh. What is it about being 18 years old that makes us feel so invincible? Like making the transition from 17 to 18 somehow deems us to be wise and all knowing. While I will probably reflect on the 20 year old version of myself and lower my head in pity at how naive I was/am, I know this to be true without a doubt: We don’t truly appreciate what we have until it is gone.

I always knew I was blessed to have a group of friends to turn to during some of the roughest years of life that is the four years of high school, but it wasn’t until my dear friends moved away to start new lives for themselves that I realized how much I took for granted having them so accessible. What I thought was nagging advice proved to be true: true friendships take a conscience effort to maintain.

Today, the 20 year old Rebecca has three amazing girl friends that make that conscience effort to stay in touch. With one moved 5 hours away in Georgia, another nearly 3 hours away in Tuscaloosa, and another here in Florence still with me but starting her journey tucked away studying in nursing school, it would be natural for each of us to get caught up in our new normal routine. We go days, even weeks, without speaking and sometimes months without seeing one another. This past weekend, our schedules finally freed up and allowed all four of us to gather in the same central location. It was as if we never moved our separate ways and we just picked up where we left off.

I look back at the moment in the bathroom with the popular girl in my class. She always seemed to have her life in perfect order. Maybe it was just my selfish teenage tendency, or perhaps my inability to observe other people’s unspoken words that kept me from truly seeing her. She didn't have her life all figured out like I thought she did. Sure, she is now doing fantastic things at one of the state’s largest most prestigious schools. But her 18 year old self seemed to be longing for something more than titles and awards. All she wanted and needed was a friend; not just another acquaintance but an actual friend. My 18 year old self was so blind to just how valuable friendship truly is.

Sometimes in the midst of the laughs/ sobs/ pleasant moments shared between me and my Shawties (yes me and my friends refer to each other as the “Shawties” because we are undercover gangsters), I think about just how different my life would be without them. I never want to fall short on preserving the friendship I have with those girls. Now here I am, two years older, two years wiser, being the nagging person I use to roll my eyes at during my teenage years. Friendships really do become harder to keep after graduating high school. However, just like wine becomes better with age, so do friendships. 

18

20

10 Reasons Why New Girl Is Every Girl's Favorite Show Ever In The History Of Forever: 

1. The longer you stare at Jess and CeCe, the more you convince yourself that you can pull off bangs. 

Expectation:

Reality: 

2. You realize there are other people on planet Earth who cope with stress, and life in general, with weird facial expressions, singing, dancing, etc. 

3. Going out sounds fun but in the end, some of the best times are had while at home chillaxing with yo realz. 

4. If truth be told, you would much rather dance silly than grind at da club. 

5. They say exactly what is on your mind, in a quirky way that speaks to your heart and just makes you love them more. 

6. Jess doesn't apologize for being her weird, awesome self. 

7. The more episodes you watch, the more you start self-analyzing trying to figure out which character you are most like. 

8. Jess shares your love of pajama sets. 

9. You want to put an ad on Craiglist looking for 3 male roommates because obviously guys beat girls in the race of best BFFs/roomies. 

10. You want a Jess/Nick relationship. 

Basically, Jess is every girl's spirit animal. 

Let's put social media in its place!

     This is probably the most awkward time of the year. The space between December 26 into the early parts of the following year makes people realize the concept of time. Leading up to Christmas, we rush time to get past our final exams to finally be able to lay in bed past noon watching Netflix and not feel sorry about it. If you work in retail, you rush time because you would rather work a double shift with no pay than to hear the same Disney pop star sing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” over the store’s loudspeakers on repeat all day every day. If you’re a poor kid like me, you rush time because you desperately need your next paycheck. After all the hustle and bustle that comes with Christmas day, what’s left? There is a feeling of deflation that resonates after you open the last of the presents and eat the last gingerbread cookie. Back to reality, we go. Then there is only a week until New Years and you realize, “Dang. I have really wasted a lot of time this year, haven’t I?” So for the last days of the year, you approach life with open arms and think of ways to try to make up for lost time. Then there are those who see the New Year as a portal into the “new better You”; magically the new year will give you a chance to evolve into the person you were meant to be.

It’s all essentially…a load of crap.

     We should all strive for self-improvement; if we didn’t, we would all look and act like we did in junior high and NOBODY wants that, do they? No. Never. *Grimaces at the memory of 7^th grade.*

     In the age of technology, social media has become the meter of one’s self worth. We judge how people view us based on how many “likes” we get on a selfie. We post long sappy statuses about how much of a Good Samaritan we are when in reality, isn’t the opposite of humbleness, arrogance? We feel the need to comment half-hearted compliments on each other pictures but then avoid that person in public when you actually have a chance to have face-to-face contact with them. (Note to females: Do you really think that girl is just “so perfect” or are you trying to get on good terms with her?) It is all a game of “How Many ‘Likes’ Can I Get?” The more the merrier. If I get more likes on a picture than her, I have beaten her at being prettier.

     Instead of living our lives in the present, we instead live it through social media. The New Year brings resolutions of healthier physical and mental lives but really all we will do is attempt a half-a$$ job at self-improving but post pictures about our efforts on Instagram so that our followers are convinced we live such an interesting life. False.

     Social media has its place. After my freshman year of college, I decided to take more pictures of what I do as a way to remember all the good, the bad, and the ugly times. But here is the difference: if your goal is to get people to like you through what you post on social media then you are setting yourself up for failure. Your self-worth can’t be found in Instagram notifications or twitter retweets. Know who you are as a person, what you stand for, your life goals, but most importantly know that you were designed by God Himself who is a sinless God. This PERFECT God took the time to design your body and map your life. Why doubt His PERFECT vision? Use social media to connect with others rather than to a way to try to connect with you.

     Resolutions are healthy. Post multiple pictures of your dog on social media; if that’s what makes you happy, do it. Have a humble heart; don’t post about your good deeds for applause. Give compliments whole heatedly both online and in person. Know where your self-worth is truly found.

And remember: Time only keeps passing. Don’t wish it away. Appreciate the little things in life. 

Self-Improvements for 2014 (and years to come): 

1) Run more.  

2) Party with Harry Styles. 

   

3) Overcome my fear of nature. 

4) Wear more nose hoops. 

5) Don't be afraid to take random pictures with a stranger. 

6) Whether we go out or stay in, treasure all the moments with my friends/family. 

 

7) Buy/ read more books.