Who they are means the same.

When asked if I would be interested in blogging for The Sweet Rice Chronicles, I wasn’t sure if I even qualified for something I felt was an honor.  How could I possibly write something people would be interested in reading?  As I sat back and thought about the purpose, I accepted the honor of writing quite proudly.  In fact I realize many of our stories are written on the same pages….

As described in why “The Sweet Rice Chronicles” and the notion of trying to help others through our thoughts and experiences it has brought me to write back quite a few years on my own style first.  Then bring people up today with the now. 

I think every single culture has experienced the taste of rice.  Sweet rice, plain rice, buttered rice, fried rice, soy sauced rice, etc… Even those in far off countries and places we only see on the discovery channel; not realizing they even existed until seeing their tribal dance on the screen, have experienced rice.  When the U.S. supplies food for the countries who lack such a necessity, on many of the huge brown sacks has a label that says “RICE.”   It’s an odd connection, but rice kind of connects each individual in this entire world for the simple fact that we have all eaten it at least one time or another.  The sweeter the better…  In this day and age, one would think that so many people have blended families that prejudice and racism could not exist.  Yet even in my own experiences that has not been the case.

I come from a few generations of mixed folks. My mom being Black, Dutch and Jewish.  My dad being Black, Mexican and Hopi.  Now in my era of the 70’s and 80’s were the questions and comments, “what are you”  “is you mixed”  “you don’t look black.”   As a child growing up, I admit that was confusing.  I did not look like the “stereotyped”  black individual.  I did not look like the Black characters that were on television back then. I remember in elementary school, a classmate tell me my mom was not black because she had blue eyes.  Wow, could he have been right?  I never did see a “black” person with blue eyes.   Which took me to ask my mom once again, “what are we?”  Her common reply, “We’re black.” 

In Jr. High I had kids tell me I was Creole.  I had no idea what Creole was or meant.  So once again, “mom, what are we?”  Sounding like a scratched record, “We’re black…”  My question, “We’re not Creole?”  Her reply, “No, Creole’s have French in them.  We are black.”   Explaining that we are black, but don’t look black was hard for some to comprehend.  I can say the benefit of being mixed for me was being able to get along with every race I came in contact with; Black, White, Asian, Latinos, Pacific Islanders, and more.  So growing up I considered myself  Black, mixed; but Black.

I was aware that a certain percent of black blood made you black.  But what if the percentage is so low, near extinction.  Does that old slavery day law/rule still exist?  I bring that  question up concerning a conversation I had with an old co-worker.   My children are half Samoan. During our discussion, I said my kids are Black.  of course going on how I was taught, any amount of Black blood makes you Black.  My co-workers argument was how could my kids be Black when I have a little bit of Black blood, and their dad is of Samoan blood?  His reasoning was that my children have more Samoan blood in them then Black.  And as much as we went back and forth about the race of my children, he actually made sense.  I don’t even know how to break down the percentage as I see other people do when it comes to the bloodline.  But my kids would be half Samoan, and a very small amount of Black.  So that is when I came to the realization that my kids are mixed Black, Samoan, Mexican and Hopi.

On sight you don’t even see the “Black” blood that runs through their veins.  Their last name would have people suspect that they are Samoan.  Their almond shaped eyes would have people assume a touch of Asian.  Their light skin and straight hair would have others believe they are White or Hispanic. 

I have seven children, so can you imagine the stories I have to share.  My children will grow up to be awesome Black, Samoan individuals.  Or Samoan, Black individuals.  No matter which way I say it, it still means the same.