Ebony and Ivory…

I often forget that my dad is a 6’2 Aryan man built like a linebacker. That is until someone gives me a strange look as I pass them on the immaculate streets of Wesport or in Whole Foods in Farfield. This, of course, assists in reaffirming that I am a 5’4 teenage girl with a caramel complexion, dark features, and absolutely no resemblance to the man I am walking what seems suspiciously close to, to the average passerby. No, he is not my biological father, yet we are so similar, when we argue I might as well be arguing with my reflection in a mirror. My father and I’s relationship is a fantastic study in the theory of nature vs nurture, however there is an additional study being conducted upon us by society. People react to the eye much quicker than you would expect, especially to skin color. For example, My Aunt, a white woman, has mixed African children, like my brothers and I. When my cousin Henry was born, I remember someone approaching her in a store and gushing “Oh, he’s so cute! Where did you get him?” My Aunt was ill-prepared. “He’s mine.” She exhaled, not sure what emotion to feel yet. But the lady pressed on. “Oh, I know he’s “yours”, but really, where did you get him?”. The lady was oblivious. Rage built up inside of my Aunt like boiling water. “From my vagina!”. This was her reply. And then we walked away. Incidents such as these are not uncommon in our family. We were once chased down the sidewalk and into our car by a man wanting to know where we were adopted from. Does it sting? Absolutely. But only immediately. Like when you rip off a band aid. Or get your eyebrows waxed. Or getting a bikini wax. I’m getting off topic. I love my dad. And our household is one close to living in “perfect harmony”. But the world is not. And this is a struggle we face. However, there is hope. Because ours is a world of evolution.

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