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July 14, 2011

Are you mixed? Half black? half breed? Light skinned? Brown? Biracial? Or Mocha? are you non of those things? Then read this! You'll probablly relate to it. This is about my white mom and how she is awesome.

Things my White Mom bought me
My parents have been together since high school. High sweethearts some might say. Now here’s something about my parents, my Dad is black and my Mom is white, making me half black.  I say half black not because I may or may not identify with it more, but because that is what people can see. Basically I am black, just diluted. This bothers my mother to no end. “Half white too!” she just wants credit for my existence.  My whole life I knew that one parent is white and the other is black. Not by premonition or insight, but because as a kid I was not blind. My Mom has been very wise as to give us as much knowledge on being bi-racial as she could (Bi-racial meaning two races, not bi-sexual as most thirteen year olds confuse it with.) My Mother was wise in making us aware of our race and how beautiful all the different types of people there were in the world.  She was also very aware not to make everything in our house a “white people thing” Cookie jars, books, dolls, Santa clause paintings, syrup, all were or had African Americans aspects to them. Which brings me to my wonderful points and list of “THINGS MY WHITE MOM BOUGHT ME” I have a wonderful mother who bought me many things as a child that brought me joy. Here are some of those things:

 Do you know how hard it is to find a black baby doll?! When I was 8 my Mom got pregnant with my little brother. She wanted me to be prepared so we took a trip to Toys R Us and spent damn near an hour looking for the perfect doll. And of course the black ones were minimal in choice and not as elaborate as the other ones. The black dolls never went potty or said “Mama” like the other ones. I am glad to say, however that now-a-days Toy stores have stepped their shit up and have become more diverse in their doll choice. I just feel bad for the Hispanic and Asian little girls walking around toys r us trying to find their representation.

As a child who still believed in Santa clause I was confused as to why in the store Santa was white but at home some of our Santa figurines were black. I once asked my mom Df7051780b1f1da8985af39883208455_mediumabout it and she said “Santa isn’t black or white, he is every race. Now get me my popcorn slave!” That last sentence is incredibly inaccurate. But nonetheless my mom made sure that our black half was not forgotten in all the glory that is Santa Clause. And I thank her for that.

 One of my favorite children’s books was called “I’ll be you, and you be me.” It’s a story about an African American girl who spends the day with her white Dad, and starts to question why they are different. Now, there are SO many reasons this book is great. One is that it is diverse. The dad, who is white, is a stay at home father, and the mom who is black, provides for the family. Also THE DAD IS WHITE!! That never happens!! Whoever wrote that book was high on some diversity crack and it was Colombian, and half black.  This book is also the worst! Confusing, I know. While the writer must be coming from a good place, there are some elements in this book that are unsettling. The little girl tells the father that she doesn’t like her dark skin and curly hair and the father tells the girl he doesn’t like his light skin and straight hair so they switch, by being in black face and white face. Fucked. Up.

A few weeks into college I was sitting at a table when an older black woman approached me “You’re hair is beautiful.” I get this a lot. No biggie “Do you ever use a hot comb?” she asked.  I told her I had never heard of one before. “Well, is your Mom white? Cause that’s why!” What a crazy bitch. My mom was always sure to give me the proper hair care products for my “ethnic” hair. Although sometimes she would try to help by giving me her straightening balm, resulting in me yelling “You’re white, Mom! You don’t understand!” The meanest possible thing you can say to your white mom. I should be ashamed… But it’s also kinda true.



Now onto the list of thing my white mom DIDN’T get me:

Why? You know why. Unrealistically skinny blonde girl with her unrealistically man pretty boyfriend. But don’t worry; years later she makes one black friend. Also I had a traumatic experience with Barbie dolls that ended with me in an Israeli hospital at the age of 4…I liked Bratz dolls anyways.

Not because of the stereotype, but because diabetes runs on both sides of the family and she was just lookin’ out!

 I didn’t know this book existed until I reached the 6th grade and I sure as hell didn’t know it was known for saying nigger a ba-gillion times. The only copy the elementary school owned was edited for our little eyes…then high school came.

And I mean all types of angels, dolls ornaments, figurines, every type. This started when my mother bought a figurine of an African American angel that just so happened to look like my oldest sister. The next year we put and angel on the tree that was a spitting image of my other sister, then finally she purchased an angel that sang silent night that looked like me. I don’t know the message I would have received if on Christmas, all the things that we associated with good, happy things were only white people. If on Christmas, all we had was white Santa and White Angel on the tree, my view of the world would be different.  Again, where in the store are the Asian or Hispanic angels found on Christmas? No where? Ya don’t say?!

Being half black, I have decided we need a day of our own! We will call it Half Black Friday, and it will be celebrated by eating oreos, watching Halle Berry movies, and taking our white moms out to lunch, cause it must have been rough having to explain to the grocery store clerk how that black baby is related to her. Half black Friday will commence Friday August 19, 2011 as it is the day that white moms got together on a blog to enjoy the half black existence.

*If you don’t like Obama, that DOES make you racist.