I’m a biracial woman in an interracial relationship living in Omaha, Nebraska.  I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve experienced all sorts of reactions from people in regards to my race.

I was raised . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: I Am Proud]]> **The following is a guest post from Crissy from Our Life… One Step at a Time.**

I’m a biracial woman in an interracial relationship living in Omaha, Nebraska.  I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve experienced all sorts of reactions from people in regards to my race.

I was raised by my white mother and aunt.  My father left when I was three and I never had any sort of relationship with him or that side of my family after that.  There was nothing wrong with being raised in an all white family except that I just never got to the know the other side of “me”.  I also wanted to know more about my African American side, but my mother didn’t want me having anything to do  with my father’s family.  I don’t blame her.  I just feel like I missed out.  Growing up I went to a school of about 400 children with 92% of the school being Caucasian.  I’ll never forget that number because I felt like such an outsider most of the time.  Then, in junior high, I came to know my first bully.  She was horrible to me.  She told me I “acted white”..she told me I had to “pick a side because I couldn’t be both”…she called me.. “an Oreo”.  It was terrible.  Then I moved onto high school and things got much better.  There was LOTS of diversity and I made friends of all different races.  I’ll forever love my high school memories for that reason.

Since graduating from high school and going to college I have seen many things that make me proud to live in Omaha as well as some things that make me not so proud.  I really don’t understand why everyone just can’t get along.  I know, it seems so simple.  But, it’s not. Not in this world.  Not with so much hate and pride.  I’ve heard the term “hoods” used many times.  People have to “represent” these hoods.  A large majority of the African American community lives in North Omaha.  Hispanics represent a large majority of South Omaha.  I’m not saying that these ethnic groups don’t live in other parts of Omaha as well though.

Anyways.. the point of this whole thing is to talk about what it’s like living in Omaha as a biracial woman in an interracial relationship.   I would like to say that I still don’t get asked what race I am.  But I do.  I would like to say that me and my white fiancé don’t still get stares. But we do.  Not all of the time.  But it still happens.  Just the other night we were going to the mall with our daughter (who has light skin just like my fiancé) and we got some very negative stares from a black man who looked to be around 22 or 23.  He stared at us the entire time until we got into the mall.  At a parade my family went to this summer an older white woman stared at us the same way.  It breaks my heart but never my spirits.

My daughter who is the light of my life and my reason for being is blessed to have dirty blonde hair like her father.  Big blue eyes like her father.  She doesn’t have my black curly hair or my big brown eyes.  But she is my daughter and has other traits of mine.  But because she doesn’t have my skin color people tend to wonder how we’re related.  In the public I’ve been asked if I’m her babysitter. Her aunt. I’ve also been asked if she was adopted.  What are people thinking? Again..it breaks my heart but never my spirits.

I’m grateful that we live in Omaha though.  It’s a very diverse city and I wouldn’t want to raise my daughter any other way then exposed to as much diversity as possible.  I want her to know about both of her ethnicities and her different cultures.  I want her to friend people of all different sizes, shapes, and colors.  I want her to love with all of her heart just like me and her daddy do.  I want her to know that we hope that one day all people are going to be created equal.  I want her to know that it’s never okay to judge someone by the color of their skin.  I want her to rise above it all with her head held high and be proud to be who she is.  Just like her mama.  I am proud to be biracial.  I am proud to be in a wonderful interracial relationship. I. Am. Proud.

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I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality…. I believe that . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Thank You, Dr. King]]> **The following is a guest post written by Cessy from Confessions of a Jibber Jabber.**

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality…. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word. ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

I am a Hispanic woman married to a Black man. My story begins when I was in high school where as a freshman I met the man who today is my husband. It was 1991 in Pomona, California. Interracial dating was not commonplace but it certainly was not 1950 and strictly forbidden; at least not legally. I had always been attracted to Black men. I had always been attracted to Black people as a whole. In a high school that was predominantly Black and Hispanic every one of my girlfriends was Black and as an adolescent I just felt like I fit in more with Black people than I did my own people. In fact Hispanic girls hated me throughout my school years. And I loathed Hispanic boys. There I said it – my first encounter with hate and I was at the root of it.

I am confident my prejudice was formed out of my childhood and having nearly every single man in my life who was supposed to protect me, provide for me, and love me – fail me. I knew from a very early age [grade school] that if this was what Hispanic men were about than I wanted no parts of it. As an adult woman I have long seen the error of my judgment; shame on me for putting all Hispanic men into one category of worthless. Nonetheless despite my childhood stigmas towards Hispanic men I did have a very real attraction towards Black men. But dating my husband did not come without consequences. A few of the girlfriends that were once my close friends, the girls I chatted with all night, and ate lunch with were no longer my friends. I had crossed a line by dating my husband. I was accepted as part of the group but once I ‘stole one of their men’ I had lost a few allies.

I continued my relationship with my husband despite losing a few friends. I later became pregnant. Now not only had I crossed a line with Black people but with Hispanic people as well. And they were worse, far worse. You see Hispanic men are raised with a very machismo attitude and are extremely protective of ‘their women.’ We’re often seen as possessions. In the early 90’s this had not changed much. I recall riding city buses and being called the worst of derogatory names by Hispanic males. I had racial slurs shouted at my Black child and me. I saw the snickers, whispers, and looks of shame directed towards me. Hispanic males hated me and definitely were at the forefront of my worst experiences with bigotry. Yes, you read that correctly. Not white people. Not Black people. My own people hated me. In particular boys, men, that I didn’t even know who saw me as trash. I felt so powerless. Like any mother, regardless of race or ethnicity, I wanted to protect my child. I didn’t see him as Black or Hispanic – he was just my son. But the world, this imperfect world, they did see his color and they despised me for it.

The worst was when my grandfather, who I absolutely adored, disowned me, and I was no longer allowed in his home. I didn’t argue with my grandfather I was taught to respect him regardless of my hurt feelings over his disownment. Also, even at a young age I was able to comprehend that he was raised in an entirely different era than I was and it was one where races just did not mix let alone have children. I stood quiet.

My grandfather had Black friends; I know this is so cliché and what every prejudice person says when confronted with their bigotry. But it is true. He did have Black friends and I recall them coming over to my nana’s home where she served dinner and they all sat around the dining room table talking and eating and having a good time. But friends were different. Creating a child with a person outside of my race was way beyond this in my grandpa’s opinion. I stood away for almost a year when I was finally allowed back.

My grandfather was an old man, he was raised in a very different time, born in Wisconsin he spent most of his childhood and adolescent life in Mexico, and he was set in his stubborn ways. But as time progressed the dynamics of the relationship between my grandfather, my husband, my children, and me transformed into something I will treasure for the rest of my life: my grandfather loved my husband. My grandfather and I had a very unique relationship and we were very close. He became so fond of my husband and writing this makes me smile because I remember the struggles we first endured almost 19 years ago and how difficult this grumpy old man was. People can change. My grandfather was able to see my husband for the good hard workingman he was. Not a man of color. Not a man different from him. Just a good man. Regardless of the color of my husband’s skin or my grandfather’s original beliefs my grandfather was able to see beyond it all and recognize that my husband was a man of character who took care of his responsibilities and this was to be respected – man to man. I think this is all Dr. King ever wanted out of each and every one of us was to love our fellow man regardless of the color of their skin and to not be judged for it but by the content of our character as a human being.

Life as an interracial couple raising children is not easy. Although I think my husband and I are fortunate to be born and raised in Southern California, because it is definitely on the faster track to diversity sensitivity in comparison to other parts of the nation, it is not without hatred. There are still idiots forcing their judgments on you – and they come in all shades, shapes, and sizes. There have been plenty of painful moments in my life based solely on the color of both mine and my husband’s skin color. For the sake of my children I choose to refuse to allow other people’s ignorance destroy my spirit or me and I teach my children to do the same. Some days this is easier than others.

Thankfully we have each other to lean on when faced with adversity. Being that both of us are minorities and both of our people have experienced racism we can relate on that level, understand each others views, and be sensitive. I think my husband is definitely more of the ‘angry’ one in our marriage. Where I try to see the strides we’ve made in this country he sees the very long road we still have to total equality. We don’t always see eye to eye on many, many issues and we have our cultural differences but overall I think we balance each other. One issue we do agree on is the mutual goal of ensuring our kids know they are both Black and Hispanic [Blacksican as the kids say] and they should stand tall and be proud of both sides of their heritage. They have amazing history on both sides of the family and I hope that it can only enrich who they become as adults. They also have a very diverse family – we are not the only interracial couple. There are Jewish, Caucasian, and Asian people all married into our giant melting pot of a family and I think this is wonderful for them to see that love has no color.

I am not a leader in my community. I am not an activist. I am a really huge nobody in the great scheme of things. But even this nobody can do their part to ensure the next generation is better than it’s predecessors. Like any parent I want my children to live in a world free of hatred and inequality. I believe we create this by raising children who will become adults bearing good character, who are compassionate for their fellow human being, and who are able to stand up to injustice.  Intolerance – it begins and cultivates at home and is passed on from one generation to the next.

In 1963 there was a moment of inspiration and confidence in the future of the human race as thousands gathered for the March on Washington – many, many moments and struggles such as this paved the way for me to be where I am right now. I don’t discount it or lose sight of the goals Dr. King had for us as a people – Black, White, or Brown. I show my gratitude to Dr. King, and all those who stood up to bias, by trying very hard to be a person of tolerance despite differences with my fellow man and God willing by raising decent human beings who will do the same.

I sincerely thank you Dr. King.

Cessy and her husband on their wedding day.

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