Mixed-Race Musings

Re-inspired by Mariah Carey’s and Lenny Kravitz’s healing and validating autobiographies — and why I love Barack Obama

I’m currently (and excitedly) working on a story to perform for The Moth. The story below was my initial direction, but we decided to try something different. Still, this piece means a lot to me because mixed-race identity is complicated when it comes down to it. In some spaces, I’m too preppy. In others, I’m Harriet Tubman. But the truth is, I’ve always defined myself.

I’ve spent a lot of my time on this earth trying to make people happy. From an early age, I learned that bringing people happiness was a good, celebrated thing. I remember the moment that my pre-school teacher said I was “one of the good kids.” I was just four years old, but I felt myself standing a little bit taller because I knew in my little life, I must have been doing something right. And in tandem with being good, I also wanted to “do good.” I put this in action during a kindergarten play in Queens Village, NY where I grew up. I was totally on-brand as a “sunshine” kid, and my classmate and I were supposed to come on stage and banish the clouds away by singing our sunny day song. Except, my classmate got stage fright and ran off the stage before we could finish. Eyeing my sobbing classmate and seeing my parents in the audience, I thought as quickly as I could to save the day. I sang both of our parts and yelled, “Don’t worry, I’m coming!” as I ran off to console my classmate. The crowd broke into applause and awws, and putting the production, and my classmate before me, made me feel like I saved the day.

Growing up in Queens, I was pretty much shielded from the racism that I’d learn about later in my life, thanks to my parents. Queens is the most diverse county in the world, and I got to grow up with a little bit of every culture. My best friend growing up was Irish; I listened to dancehall (thanks to my neighbors blasting Shabba Ranks and Patra next door) as much as I would Janet Jackson and the stories from my Teddy Ruxpin. It seemed like my first gen friends spent their Saturday mornings learning about the language of their cultures. I didn’t seem to encounter much racism, but even in this unusual Queens safe space, I was not shielded from colorism.