When you belong to a mixed-race family like my own—white mom, black dad, Asian uncle, Latin husband—you get used to hearing all kinds of crazy things. “Where are you from?” What’s your mix?” And that perennial favorite: “What’s your nationality?” (Full disclosure: I’m American!)
Nothing, however, prepared me for an exchange I had a few years ago with a well-respected television producer who—despite being intrigued by my unique background—made it clear that folks like me would never be welcomed into her own family.
Back then, in those pre-#metoo days, I–like so many other African-Americans—held my tongue, and accepted racial offenses as the price we pay for inhabiting mostly white worlds.