So, are you Black or White?

I'm in 7th grade, and this is the first time I have ever been asked this question.

"Both" I answered. It's simple, right? My mom is Black, my dad is White. The math is easy. What kind of question is this?

To my ignorance, it's a layered question, and it will become something I ask myself everyday, because everyday someone wants an answer.

I am a mixed kid who grew up with lots of other mixed kids on military bases across Germany. I saw lots of interracial parents who made different combinations of children. Like most young people, if you shared something delicious out of your lunchbox, I thought you were cool and we were friends.

Somehow, things just get weird and race becomes a big deal. I'm not sure if it's the inner workings of middle school or that my family returned to the states. I was friends with a couple of white girls. There was some drama, and then I was friends with the black girls. I was happier there.

Nothing major happens in middle school, but I'm making small observations that will become my foundation as I enter High School.

I'm shy and being social is painful. I'm inexperienced and naive. Kids talk about things I don't quite understand. I'm smart, have large grandma glasses, and my hair is always frizzed out-which would make me an easy target, but the black girls are my friends, and that's providing me some sort of... safety? I'm tall and large chested, uncertain about my body. I don't want to move around.  I choose to wear clothes twice my size. I have not measured my level of attractiveness; it's not in my awareness.  I have a gap between my teeth that I'm not particularly fond of, but I don't hate it... yet.

By the time I move out of eight grade, my answer has changed.

"I'm Black."

and I get my hair relaxed, because that's what black girls do.

photo credit: zen via photopin cc

Here we go.....

Oh, has this been a long time coming.

I am notorious for posting my dating exploits on Facebook. Not a big deal - 95% of my online pals are good friends of mine.  It started out with a simple need to tell someone....anyone.... of a ridiculously bad date I had. Rather than chat it out with 8 of my besties, I figured I'd save some time by posting highlights from the event.

And oh what an event it was. People applauded and joined together in the experience of the bad date. Others participated in shock face and had disbelief that my story was true. A few became quick critics, which is fine - I'm open to feedback. But I do notice they are the ones that have been in a relationship... for like, ever. So their opinion I take with a grain of salt. (I still love you).

And so my friends looked forward to the next story. and the next. because you see, I date a lot. and those dates happen to be bad - which usually makes for funny. Why is this my experience, you may ask? Well, I've heard a gambit of reasons, but you can decide for yourself because I'm documenting it.

I am a 29 year old bisexual woman dating in the 21st century,
and for the most part, it sucks.

but for the other part....it's hilarious.

 photo credit: Βethan via photopin cc