giving thanks

Giving thanks, expressing what I am thankful for is quite a new concept for me. Painfully sad, but entirely true.

Growing up, the Thanksgiving holiday involved grown ups arguing over where dinner would be, what time it would be and who was or was not invited. The meal never involved prayer or any words spoken that resembled being thankful for anything at all. As a child I remember Thanksgiving to be one of those holidays I didn't appreciate except that I had a few days off from school and got to play with my cousins. Well, at least the ones that belonged to the aunts and uncles that we were associating with that year.

My lack of appreciation for this holiday evolved into my years of early adult hood and on into my early forties, as my marriage was mirrored in many ways similarly to what I was accustomed to in my childhood.

It wasn't until I was single again and building a new life that I reflected on what was important in life. I developed an appreciation for what I have, what some would call the little things in life. Truly they are the big things and most definitely what matters most. I also began a spiritual journey that began slowly but is increasing with each day.

So in light of this all important holiday, and because I am baring myself to the world in so many ways telling by my stories, I want to share with you what I am thankful for.

Thank you God for your love, forgiveness and guidance through this life.

Thank you for providing me with parents who despite having issues I feel strongly about, apparently did something right in raising me and my siblings as we are all living productive lives.

Thank you for blessing me with my beautiful son and allowing me the experience to be both his mother and his mom.

Thank you for blessing me with two daughters who desperately needed a mom and for giving me the love, wisdom and patience to be the mom they need and deserve.

Thank you for this wonderful man, my mate in life who loves me so completely, without conditions, who accepts me as totally and wholly as I accept him.

Thank you for blessing my entire family with good health and providing our needs and wants.

And finally Thank You for reading my stories, I hope I have brought something meaningful into your lives. Please have a blessed and peaceful holiday.

is it black, white or somewhere in between?

I have two daughters. Not my biological daughters, didn't push them out, but definitely my daughters. Their birth mother is white and in case you are reading for the first time, their father is black.


Are they black?

No, they are not. They are a combination of black and white. Mixed. Mulatto. Multiracial. Biracial. Red Bone. High Yellow. Golden. Brown.

Have heard it all. Can you tell?

Geez, their dad has Native American blood. Their mother has Irish, Dutch and perhaps German. How are these children black?

My point in all this (yes I do have one) is why is our President Elect our "First Black President"?

He is mixed race, biracial, mulatto....OK I won't list them all again. It's almost as if some of us are trying to have this both ways. We want to protest the "One Drop Rule", to show our scorn and indignation at this outdated class system that only seems to exist in this country and when referring to black people. Yet when speaking of someone who is clearly mixed, we call him black. We say it loudly and often.

I must say I am confused. We are trying to move away from racial divides like the One Drop Rule and Jim Crow Laws. If our intention is to move away, why are we calling a biracial man black? Is he not, in fact, biracial? Are we applying the One Drop Rule when it works in our favor?

I have to speak from experience here about my daughters. They are usually labeled the two mixed girls and that's fine, they are mixed. That being said, shouldn't President Elect Obama be labeled our First Mixed President?

And my final question is this. Why do the people who have "Vote Obama 08" bumper stickers on their cars, why do these people treat my daughters and other mixed people like they don't fit into either race? Deep down inside do they feel that way about our First Biracial President? Is that why they call him black, so he fits in where they need him to fit?


I realize the questions I pose don't have clear answers. I wish we could all be labeled one race, the human one, and be done with all this categorizing of people.

the idealist in me

I am an idealist.

I want everything to be fair, split somewhere down the middle when two sides conflict, and all endings to be happily ever after.

Now I'm intelligent enough to realize it doesn't happen that way often.

But I still hope.

I hope that one day racism will be a non-issue. Within my family and within our culture. My optimism has been re nourished of late because of the outcome of the election. A new day. A time for change. The obvious change and most needed change is change from these past eight painful years. Economic change. Political change.

But I also want to see a change in culture.

I want to walk into a restaurant or a store with my husband and not get "the look". I want to go to my son's football games with my family and not "hear" the conversation stop in the bleachers as we walk by. I want to meet my daughters friends for the first time and not be asked why we are different colors.

I don't want to feel disgust when reading a blog I had previously enjoyed, but now read a post where the author shares her fear over how "those people" might change the decor in the White House to better accommodate "their lifestyle". I don't want to read about her fear that some specific artwork displayed there which depicts slavery might be removed or even worse, meet an untimely demise. I don't want to hear about how she felt this would be "a shame" because slavery has it's place in "our" history. I especially don't want to read the lie when she made it clear to her readers that she is definitely not racist.

I want parents to be proud of their children when they choose a partner based on moral character, good values and love as opposed to social status, financial strength or the right skin color.

I want to see children being raised to understand and embrace diversity.

I want people who say they aren't racist to either put their words into practice or stop talking out of both sides of their mouth.

Yes, I am an idealist who believes that if any of this is possible, the best time to begin is now.

Refugees United

Sometimes I look at my daughters, whose birth mother decided there was more to life than raising four and five year old daughters and decided one day to leave for greener pastures.

Then I turn and look at my son, who's birth father is so wrapped up in his own life and useless material possessions that he is rapidly losing any meaningful relationship he has with his teenage son.

These three kids all feel the pain of having a parent too selfish to put their children first.

When I visit my children's schools for different functions, I see kid's of varying ages clearly living in poverty and going without things you and I take for granted.

But you know, all these kids have it pretty good.

They have it pretty good when compared to other kids in the world who have lived in conditions you, I and our children can't even begin to comprehend.

Today in recognizing the staggering number of refugees of the world, I want to talk about the children. Children who have lived virtually their entire lives in a refugee camp, who have never known even the basic necessities that we take for granted in every day living. Things like a hug from someone who loves them, a change of clothes, running water, an education or a decent meal.

It is estimated there are somewhere in the neighborhood of 14 million refugees throughout the world, and approximately 9 million of them are warehoused. Warehousing means they are confined in camps and settlements, unable to work or move on with their lives. Waiting for nothing. They are stored there without hope, a means to an end, year after year.

In spite of a protection mandate declared by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees to find a solution by resettlement in another country or naturalization granted in the country where they have fled, refugees instead are warehoused like goods, not human beings and virtually forgotten.

Which leads me back to children. Shimelba Refugee Camp on the border between Eritrea and Ethiopia in Ethiopia is "home" to about 14,000 refugees who have fled persecution in Eritrea. What is so heart breaking about this number is almost 10,000 of the refugees "living" in Shimelba are children. Children who are growing up without any education, knowledge of family, just existing with no future in sight other than what they currently know. Children who are warehoused and clearly forgotten.



How can you help, you ask? Please go to US Committee for Refugees and Immigrants.

Educate yourself, donate anything you can, talk about what you learn to every one you know. Just do something.

again!

Carol at Inspired Journey just last week bestowed the Brillante Weblog Award to me. Just as the dust settled, Tricia over at Papercages has now honored me with the Uber Amazing Blog Award.

Thank you, Tricia for this recognition. Please visit Papercages where Tricia will entertain you with her very original style of humor. Her posts help me start each day with a smile.

Now the rules of this award are to pass the award on to five other blogs. Add the five blogs to your blog roll and link to the blog that awarded you. As Shades of Black and White is written primarily about racism, I have passed this award on to blogs that write about racial issues.

1) http://nomorerace.blogspot.com
2) http://mixedraceamerica.blogspot.com
3) http://www.antiracistparent.com
4) http://listeningforchange.blogspot.com
5) http://www.allaboutrace.com

Please visit these blogs. The more voices that openly speak about racial issues, the closer we come to bridging the gap and move away from the useless energy that fear and hate evoke.

this man i love

So I've told you some of my story. If you are reading for the first time, it is in fact a story taking place over time, so beginning with the oldest post first is the way to get up to speed.

Or, if you wish, the condensed version:

I was raised in the Midwest among views that were blatantly racist and with love that was always conditional. I spent much of my adult life expelled from my family due to my desire to make decisions that were mine alone and for not conforming to an expected role. I hit some bumps and took some sharp turns along the way. Did some typical things like get married, had a child, got divorced. I was contentedly living my single life, raising my son for about eight years.




Then out of the blue I fell in love. Mind altering, life changing, live happily ever after love. The man I love is many things. One is that his skin is a beautiful shade of Hershey Chocolate. Some people would call it black. My skin? Well my skin is white. This situation of the contrasting skin colors resulted in my son and I to be permanently banned from my family. Sometimes in life we have to take a stand. They choose to place skin color above family and I chose to honor their choice. Now here we are, living happily ever after, me and my prince. In addition to the son I brought to our family, he brings two beautiful daughters, so we now total five.

In a nutshell, there you have it.

Now who is this man, this prince I share my life with? What is his character? Where does he stand in this story of a family divided all because of race and hate?

This is a man of extremely strong character. He consistently and confidently knows where he stands on all matters. Morally this man is a rock, solid and unwavering. This man is the fairest person I have even known. He can objectively look at any situation and see the unclouded truth. This man is profoundly spiritual with a deep understanding of the Bible. He will always try to do the right thing, even if it's at his own expense.

This man and I have discussed racial issues endlessly, from every imaginable angle. We have dissected, analyzed and debated about my family and their views from my childhood until the present time.

Even though he is hated sight unseen just because of his skin color and for having the nerve to love their daughter, he doesn't hate. In our conversations, he calls them by name as if he knows them. He wants to know all he can about them, their childhoods, education, the places they lived, who their siblings are, what they like to do in day to day life. Should they come to our home, he would open our door to them, pull them inside and do all he could to make them feel welcome. He is a much bigger person than I will ever be.

I closed the door on them with the resolve that it never be opened again. He is willing to open it at a moments notice.

This story, as many stories go, has so many unpredictable twists, turns and angles. For every answer there is another question. One insurmountable question within me is how to forgive. If I don't forgive, am I not creating a hate within myself? I know I have to forgive in order to move on and be a better person.

Exactly what am I forgiving? Racism or conditional love. Perhaps the answer is both.