POINT OF CLARIFICATION
Through the wonders of on-line social networking, I recently reconnected with a long-lost friend and former colleague, who, like most of the people I have worked with over the years, is white. Shortly thereafter, she sent me a very kind e-mail saying that she had read the entries that I had posted so far at DiversityMom and had been deeply moved. What struck me, though, was that she said, “I had no idea these thoughts were going through your mind when we worked together.” Well, maybe they should have been, but I had to write back and explain that in fact none of these observations really occurred to me until I had a child. Now that I think about it, throughout my professional life, I guess all of my anti-bias energy was focused on gender discrimination. Forget people assuming that I’m a nanny, I had to deal with many – including other women – refusing to believe that I was anything other than a secretary. But diversity in the workplace is not the point here.
A few days ago, another friend, who is black, said that although she was not surprised by content of my mini-essays, she was definitely surprised that I was the person writing it.
To both friends, I offer roughly the same story: Having been a poster child (the title of my novel) for integration for practically all of my life, being the only brown one in the room is second nature to me, so much so that I think that subconsciously I seek those situations, simply out of a compulsion to make them just a little less…well…a little less white. Before my daughter was born, I think the only time when I have felt truly out of place as a woman of color was at a NASCAR awards banquet (I worked for many years in sports). Hence, my own surprise to discover the weirdness of diversity motherhood. It was like stumbling upon a lost civilization, a strange culture where racial misconceptions and social biases are so deeply embedded that unless there is some form of intervention, I felt that they would surely be handed down from generation to privileged generation. And one way or another, my child was destined to be in the middle of it!
So for anyone who may think that DiversityMom.com is about sour grapes, it isn’t. I haven't gone militant, either. Blame the poster child in me. Only this time, rather than trying to change perceptions one person at a time, I’m determined to alter behaviors. I’m not sure, but that doesn’t sound like progress to me.
A few days ago, another friend, who is black, said that although she was not surprised by content of my mini-essays, she was definitely surprised that I was the person writing it.
To both friends, I offer roughly the same story: Having been a poster child (the title of my novel) for integration for practically all of my life, being the only brown one in the room is second nature to me, so much so that I think that subconsciously I seek those situations, simply out of a compulsion to make them just a little less…well…a little less white. Before my daughter was born, I think the only time when I have felt truly out of place as a woman of color was at a NASCAR awards banquet (I worked for many years in sports). Hence, my own surprise to discover the weirdness of diversity motherhood. It was like stumbling upon a lost civilization, a strange culture where racial misconceptions and social biases are so deeply embedded that unless there is some form of intervention, I felt that they would surely be handed down from generation to privileged generation. And one way or another, my child was destined to be in the middle of it!
So for anyone who may think that DiversityMom.com is about sour grapes, it isn’t. I haven't gone militant, either. Blame the poster child in me. Only this time, rather than trying to change perceptions one person at a time, I’m determined to alter behaviors. I’m not sure, but that doesn’t sound like progress to me.
My mother was the youngest of four children. Her mother, from Puerto Rico, as black (despite her birth records stating 'caucasian') as could be and her father, a white Spaniard. Their children fall on the caramel spectrum. Some lighter and some darker. The darkest, the sister immediately my mother senior, is the darkest (and the loveliest too). She married an Italian man of fair complexion and then dark hair. Their only child has a medium complexion. At birth and for many years until the tween years, my cousin had blonde curls. At the market, playground and the school yard...My aunt was assumed to be the nanny despite her fabulousness of dress, hair, make up and jewels.
This was 1963.
It is a shame that this conversation is still being had.
I commend you Robin for opening a dialogue that many of color and not of color don't think of.
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