For a long time my life has been full of questions. Questions from others and most of the time, me questioning myself. When you are a child it is very important that everything in your world make perfect sense. This was not the case for me. It was very unsettling to say the least, that I had the only White mother on the block. Nor, was it easy for me to have blue eyes and "good hair" when all the other little children had brown faces and pigtails. I longed for brown skin like the other little girls and a brown mother to match. It has been only recently that I have realized that the old saying "beauty is only skin deep" applies to melanin, too.

It has always been difficult answering or fielding questions that I have no answers for. People seem to think that if you appear to be of mixed heritage then the field is wide open for them to ask all sorts of questions. I've been stared at, pointed at, and talked about, some just out right ask, "Are you mixed?" That particular question angered me even as a child because I always felt that it implied I was somehow confused. Probably, because deep down I was. Confused about why I seemed to be different from my schoolmates and my playmates. It was confusing to have a Black side of the family and a White side. Other questions and comments annoyed me just as much, half-breed, zebra and mulatto were words that I found to be particularly offensive. When "The Jefferson's" television show came on in the 70's, I finally had exposure to people like me. There were two "mixed" characters on the show. Lionel's wife and her brother, the children of the inter-racial couple upstairs. They encountered the same kinds of racism that my siblings and myself did. Their tenacity and witty comebacks were like a balm to my soul. It taught me and showed me how to handle myself when forced to deal with such ignorance.

Eventually, as I reached my teen-age years I began to search for the answers to all of my questions. Because my father is African-American and we lived in an African-American community, I began to identify more with this culture. It permeated my whole life. The music, attitudes, language (slang), and my social circle we firmly entrenched. I don't know when it all started to make sense to me. Maybe it was the fact that the African-American race had also been victims of racism and it was just easier for us to relate to one another. Or, it could simply be because I had no real exposure to White people, except of course, my mother. And limited exposure to my White grandparents, who I must say, loved us very much, even though sometimes they didn't know what to make of us. I remember watching Soul Train as a child with my sister at their home once, I must have been nine years old. They watched in confusion as my younger sister and myself danced and moved like the teen-agers on the show, and how as if on cue, at the end, we wished everyone love, peace and soul right along with Don Cornelius.

Most questions have been answered since my high school years. I have socialized with, dated and married in the African-American community. I made a conscious decision for myself to be a Black woman. This choice and decision seemed to be a natural progression. And for the most part, I would say that it has been. "Riding the fence" only added to my confusion. I wanted and needed to be part of a larger world that just myself. Claiming both races when I didn't even identify with one (white) did not make sense to me. Some may come to the conclusion that I am a "sellout" and my position is one cannot "sail out" of something one was never in. Because of my obvious white features, the blue eyes are a dead giveaway, my presence has always at first created a series of questions about my ethnicity in either race. It has even gotten me a job offer or two being a light skinned black in the South, jobs that I never accepted. For me, it seemed traitorous to accept a job because of my lighter skin tone, when my black brothers and sisters were denied the same or similar jobs because of their darker ones. I believe some of these things were deciding factors for me in my decision to stay on this side of the fence. Crossing over, or passing, just never seemed like a "right" choice for me.

I finally have some answers for myself. I now know and understand that people, including myself, aren't always what and who they appear to be. The questions and assumptions that others make about me still tend to annoy me. I still don't always answer questions about my ethnicity. This is not a personal affront to my mother, who feels differently than I. It is mainly because I cannot identify with a race I have no affiliation with on an emotional or cultural level. It's part of a deeper, personal choice I have made to not ride that fence. I have made the choice to walk through this life as an African-American woman. Inherently, that is who I am. To do any differently would be denying myself. I also don't feel as if I need to explain my heritage to people just because they are curious. It intrudes on my privacy to constantly have to explain why my eyes are a certain color and my skin a certain hue.

Being biracial has presented many obstacles in my life. But, it has also offered me the opportunity to examine who I really am and to make choices that some would not ever have the opportunity to explore. Life is most definitely a journey. Mine has been a difficult one, but it has also taught me that perseverance is the best companion. During my lifetime I am sure I will encounter more questions and comments from people who don't have a clue as to who they are, much less who I am. But, I also have learned that is not my problem. It's about me. About who I am and who I want to be. It is vitally important that people be true to themselves. I am refusing to cheat myself and constantly berate myself with questions that really don't make a difference in my day to day living. I am seeking peace for myself and that cannot be done with a question mark hanging over my head. My journey and my path are clearer now than it was just a few years ago. I have always "felt Black". But, it was only recently that I have given myself permission to be a Black woman, and I am happier than I have ever been before. I have always felt like "society" wanted me to choose or be both. For instance, marking a box on census forms that say "other". Other what? What does that really mean? I wish we could live in a world where race does not matter, but that will not happen in my lifetime. For me, making a choice was the only way for me to survive. There is no guilt and no confusion for me anymore. But most of all, there is no question mark.

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