REALITY CHECK
Guess Who’s
Coming To Dinner?
By Layla Acirfa

I am the queen of everything black.  My child hood included African dance classes, eating bean pies, and looking at the walls that my mother decided to decorate with a Mudd cloth motif.  I loved going to toy stores and pooling through the aisles of Cabbage Patch dolls and Barbie, and even though many different types of dolls cascaded around my room; they only came in one shade - brown.   “History is the key to your future, and books let you glimpse into your past,” my mom would always state; so as others learned of George Washington and were told tales of Cinderella and princesses name Snow White; we learned about Queen Nzinga and were told tales of princess Neasha and her evil step sisters Makeeta and Keisha.  So when I brought my fiancé home in good taste no one spoke, but I could see what many were thinking.  Wow, she never mentioned he was white.  Whoops!

That was five years ago, five years before I was married with child.  Five years filled with infinite moments of self discovery and doubt.  Four years of being able to focus more on our growth than on the pensive stares of people who wished to inquire but instead chose to assume.  Three years of waiters asking if we were together even though the reservation is for two and there is no one standing behind us, and two years of double takes.  It is ironic that many of the onlookers included black men who were also coloring outside of the lines.  Double standards are fascinating.  It is amazing that people can be tightly bound by culture but so easily divided by color. 

The most significant and recent change in my life is the birth of my beautiful daughter. She brings love, laughter, and sleepless nights into my life as well as a slew of stares and questions for me to deal with externally and internally.  While flipping through the back of her non existent owner’s manual I discovered an important set of questions. 
 
How do I give her the best?  Will I be able to help her in determining her own identity, and if so how will I do it?  Can I teach her that she is many things when we live in a culture that pressures people to be one singular entity, i.e. Tiger Woods?

She is only eleven weeks old and I did not think I needed to examine these questions just yet.  That is until I went to a child’s birthday party several weeks ago where I was not greeted with the normal salutations: hello, congratulations, or how are you?  My greeting was a simple solitary question.  One of those questions that makes you feel frozen in time.  A question that I am sure took much thought and effort, or maybe not…..That’s a white man’s baby?  This question was then was followed by that same person calling to others to come and examine my baby.  I thought, please someone pinch me so I can wake up.  But this was not a dream.

As I gathered my composure, that mere question existed as a hard, cheek tingling slap back into reality.  Friends and immediate family doted on the both of us for the past weeks and joy was the only thing discussed, not color.  I guess I lost touch with reality.  I forgot that others may not see a beautiful baby.  They see a curiosity, a biracial baby.  Thanks for the reality check.  After deciding to cash the check I realized it was time for me to take off the foggy lenses, and open my eyes to the fact that maybe Langston Hughes was correct when he stated that life ain’t no crystal stair.

I have considered many scenarios while watching others silently scrutinize, and finally come to the conclusion that my mother was correct.  History is the key to your future, and if I am to give her all of the keys I must teach her as my mom did with me about who she is and not what others wish for her to be.  I cannot teach her to search for acceptance, that journey is never ending and only filled with traffic and pollution.  If she is to be accepted it must come from within.  We must celebrate holidays and heroes that both my husband and I revere.  She is to know the good and bad that both worlds have to offer, but not be forced into acceptance of one or the other.
 
As much as I would like to wave the flag of human evolution I cannot lie to her nor can I lie to myself.  Not all men have evolved. We are all created equal, but it just about ends there because not everyone develops the same.  I cannot shelter her from indignities and ignorance or love and knowledge but I can teach her how to distinguish between the two.  This voyage has just begun and if nothing else I am sure the trip will be interesting.