Adult Discussion Topic

What present images create flashbacks to your ethnic heritage?

 

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THE THING THAT REMINDS ME OF MY ETHINC BACKGROUND IS WHEN I LOOK AT MYSELF IN THE MIRROR. IAM HALF ITALIAN AND HALF BLACK, AND IAM PROUD OF BOTH OF MY HERITIAGE. WHEN I LOOK AT MY SON, HE REMINDS ME OF THE CARRY ON OF BOTH OF MY FAMILIES HERITIAGE. HE WILL BE ABLE TO TELL HIS CHILDREN ABOUT HIS HERITIAGE AND BE PROUD OF IT.

Making banana pudding this weekend for my girlfriend who is white. We got to talking about what else I can cook and I realized a lot of my culinary skills I don't use anymore are black southern style cooking (healthy cooking rules in my house these days!). But it took me back to those huge dinners of ham and yams and gravey and everything cooked in pork, butter and sugar. I made a vow to cook a meal like that at least once a month from now on. I did not realize how much I missed it in my zeal to eat healthy now. I have not eaten like that since I was a child. What was more amazing was watching her face as I described the meals I grew up on. It made me realize how clueless she is to my back ground and how much I wanted to show her where I come from.

It's late afternoon on a Sunday, just about the time when Sunday dinner is simmering on the stove. I smell spicy tomato sauce comeing from a neighbors window and I am transported. It's a hot summer evening in the Bronx. I have been playing all day and my grandma has been cooking one of her big Italian dinners all day. I come into the apartment and, fidrt thing, i smell the tomato sauce simmering, smell the meat in the oven, and see her standing over the stove with a wooden spoon in her hand. Those Sunday family dinners were some of the most happy memories of my life, and one of the only things that made me feel in touch with some heritage, somehting deeper and older than myself. We would all have a good, long Italian meal, no leftovers! Tomato sauce simmering can still make me feel like a happy kid again!

I remember when I first moved to south Florida. There was a white girl in my class who 'acted black'. Because I was adopted, and my family was white, I once related to white issues. I remember thinking how much, since she wanted to be darker, and I wanted to be lighter, how easy things would be if we could switch. I remember getting a Black doll for my 7th or 8th birthday. The doll was nothing like I expected. It was very ugly. I remember moving from South Florida to North Florida. I connected with the Black kids at school. I mean, when I would go to NF to visit my father, my white friends were my 'summer friends' but when it came time for me to live there for good, they all seemed to have 'other plans'. Well, the school board, because of my new friends, considered me black. I can remember their faces when my father came in for parent/teacher meetings. It seemed like after they met with my White father, they were a bit nicer to me. As I got older, the Black dolls became better. I collected every Black Barbie that I could. When I started college, it wasn't too great to be 'light skin'. Black men would over-look me. Class discussions would always turn into how the 'White Man' was holding the Black man down. I remember going to pick up my boyfriend from his intern as a teacher. The school happened to be an all-Black school. The KIDS chastised him, taunting "Mr. Brown's dating a White woman!" I was so bothered that they would say such a thing. I remember talking to my dad about it and he calmly said, "Why should it OFFEND you that they say you're white." And then I thought about how much my life had changed since wanting to switch with the white girl in middle schoool. There was no need for me to be ashamed of either half of me. And collecting all the White or Black dolls in the world isn't going to make me 100% either color. Now when I go to the store, I always have to check and see if there is a light-skinned doll, you know, for my blond haired brown eyed, light skinned daughter. I don't want her to have to go through such and identity crisis like I did.

One day I was brewing coffee and I started thinking on the German Coffee Houses in Europe when I was girl. The smell of the different coffees and baking treats made me wish to return there. I started thinking that I hadn't been to our local German gorcery store since my mother's death 1 1/2 years ago. The smell of the various meats, breads, rolls,and candies is so unique and I begin to cry. It all brought back good memories of my mother, my German heritage, and childhood.

Date: July 23, 1997

I arrived home last night at 9 P.M. after a long day at the office. Since I was in air conditioning all day, I looked forward to breathing fresh air. It was a warm and muggy evening and watermelon seemed to be the perfect refresher, so I cut myself a full round slice and quartered it.

As I picked up a piece, took a bite, and spit the seeds on to my plate I had images of childhood holiday barbecues in our mostly cement backyard. There was always ribs and chicken cooking on the charcoal grill with home made potato salad, corn on the cob, and corn bread waiting to be served. And for dessert, watermelon that was so sweet and juicy that I needed a bath after I spit my last seed on the ground. (I never saw watermelon cut off its rind until I was an adult.)

As I reflected on this time of my life, what struck me most was that this stereotypical black barbecue was being hosted by a white, Jewish woman who also created dinners of chitterlings and pigs feet (yum). I once asked my mother where she learned how to cook these meals and she replied, "From your father’s mother."

She must have been a fast learner since my paternal grandmother died when I was 5 years old. But I do remember visiting my grandmother in North Carolina and watching her pluck, clean and fry one of the chickens from her pen for Sunday dinner. Collard greens, butter beans, fresh mashed potatoes, and biscuits usually were passed around the table, with watermelon rounding off the meal.

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