I am black.
I am white.
And this is my first entry about all of that.
Get excited.
The Jackson children (my little sister’s arm is her only visible part behind my pumpkin head) The only white person in the photo is my lovely mother. And here is a great picture of the photographer, my dad, playing his gee-tar with my oldest brother looking on.
My two favorite “growing up mixed” stories…
1) Every time I had a hair appointment when I was little I showed the stylist the same picture of some android-like white girl with scientifically feathered hair. You can see the results of that haircut above. Needless to say, I was rarely pleased.
2) I knew I was “something”, but I looked a lot more like my mom. So around 4th grade, I chose Puerto Rican and told everyone my real name was Consuela. This started when Menudo was on “Silver Spoons” and ended when I told everyone in Mrs. Murray’s class that I could speak Spanish and was asked to read a Spanish poem out loud. Don’t worry, I did… and was exposed as a fraud when my mom heard about my performance in parent/teacher conferences.
There are a million light, funny memories like this when I was little, and plenty of confusing and desperate moments as I got older. Not from any shocking racism thrust upon me, but really from the compartmentalizing party I invited myself to after college.
Well, if I love Hall & Oates, I can’t be black. But what about these hips?! Those can’t be white! I even tried on the “it’s a race in and of itself” theory and that did nothing for me. That sounded like a riddle and just felt pretty lonely.
The compartmentalizing party is completely boring and frustrating, but it proved something to me. First of all, attendance is apparently mandatory. Every person I know, no matter what their background, has been desperate at times to feel safe and loved; willing to grab any “Hello, my name is…” label looking for a little protection from whatever life is fixing to throw at them. And I’ll tell you what, if I thought it worked, I’d wear every label I could. But the fact is, you may feel nice and secure in your career or relationship or your ideal weight, but life keeps on coming over and over again.
Some good, some bad.
Some gloriously good and some tragically bad.
Eventually, hopefullly, you throw out your label and make a gracious exit from the party. Because you can’t protect yourself by becoming small enough to disappear within one group or by making a quick escape into another. Instead you just become yourself; inviting every experience in, taking it for what it is and moving on to the next. No longer lame and small, just infinitely big…with tons more room to grow.
This can all sound Oprah and aha-y, but living this “bigger” style life for me feels a bit like emotional epilepsy. There are somedays when it all seems to be coming on too fast and I don’t know who I am or what the hell am I doing. My whole person can just feel really tight and cramped. And the compartmentalizing party, however lame, is always bumpin’…and at least I was invited.
But then I look at that picture of my family and realize I have all of the evidence I need that labels are no way to go.
One tiny couch photographed by my black father with a white mom, six lunatic kids every shade imaginable and an adopted child from the Cabbage Patch. All the proof I need is right there, in my family.
There is always more room on the couch. You just need to scooch out of your own way.
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10 Comments
While I was slaving over a hot kitchen table looking for these photos for you,I must’ve went through about a hundred that I’ve never seen before.And It made me realize that the Jackson’s are the infinite universe. We should never feel alone,because you can look FOREVERRRRR.
Aaron (the golden child)
this is great, sarah. i had totally forgotten about consuela, but not about your pumpkin head. i hope soon you’ll investigate your childhood obsession with charlie brown.
Thank you for giving me this insight into our family. See you at Thanksgiving.
Sarah, what can I say except that you are brilliant and I am not biased. You will do wonderful things in your life time, of that I am sure, because not only do you have talent but a good heart.
Some day you and Andrew need to visit. From the day I met Andrew, he became a very important member of our family. I will make him seven-layer cookies and you can make your special brownies(of course, Twinkles will gladly help you).
Love you much xoxo
all I know is that you are Sarah Jackson.
I knew you since you were a grass hopper.
you were always a wonderful person.
Now I find out that you are smart, too and I see from the pictures you enclose that you are beautiful as well.
Your couch does not count. nor does mom/dad.
at your age now it is only about YOU.
YOU are what you are. Empty your mind. Let the stuff from the past just whirl around you. YOU stay calm and find YOUR center. Find the now.
Peace
Hans
I like. Scooch over, sister!
And no wonder you are so beautiful!
xo,
Angela
OK, I know this is supposed to be about you and everything .. but can we talk about my issues for a moment. In looking at the photo, it took me five full minutes to realize that the person on the couch who I thought was our older brother, was actually me!! Immediately, memories of the gym teacher at St. Catherine’s in third grade getting me confused with the little Puerto Rican boy Hector came flooding back to me. The hell with the bi-racial thing — let’s talk about my gender-confusion issues!! Now back to you … excellent writing as always. Love your older sister, “Hector”
I truly found your take on the biracial issue funny and laced with insight. You are truly wonderful and unique. Those pics are a trip! Tell the goldenchild I heard his guitar work recently with his band and thought it was GREAT. Say hello and tell everyone I love and miss them. Lots of love, M
I love hearing story’s with so much warmth and feeling to them.
All my kids are biracial and my father is biracial, Keep loving who you are because you have a great talent for writing.
Elizabeth,
Thank you so much!! It’s so nice to hear that there are more bi-racial families besides mine and Barack Obama’s;-)
Family is complicated, even more so when you’re trying to write about them. So your kind words and encouragement mean a lot.
Please keep readin’…
Sarah