One evening, my partner, Emily, was sitting on the couch, tears streaming down her face. Concerned, I asked what was troubling her, but she remained silent. I assumed it was just another episode of the emotional rollercoaster that accompanies pregnancy. The worries that come with impending motherhood can often spiral, leading her to ponder, “What if our baby has a rare condition?” or “What if he ends up in a bad crowd?” After a moment, I pressed her again. “Are you alright?” She finally whispered through her sobs, “I’m just scared he won’t look like me. People might think I’m his babysitter.”
I am black, and Emily is white. Together, we have three wonderful children. Our youngest, just 18 months old, boasts dark eyes and a beautifully ambiguous skin tone that often leads people to ask, “What is he?” Meanwhile, our two older children, ages 3 and 4, have striking blue eyes and fair skin. While my gender does prevent people from mistaking me for a babysitter, I frequently get questioned about my relationship to them. At times, strangers will look at me, bewildered, as if I’m just a random black man hanging out with toddlers.
As a parent of two biracial children with light skin, I often find myself navigating unexpected conversations. For example, at a local park, a curious Asian mother gazed at us intently before summoning the courage to ask, “Where did the kids come from?” Had I been quicker with my comebacks, I might have said, “Deez nutz,” but instead, I blurted out, “They’re my kids…from down the street.” At an African restaurant, the owner, upon seeing my credit card adorned with my children’s pictures, questioned my paternity, cautioning me that if they married white partners, their offspring would be entirely white, thus erasing my heritage. I nodded, signed the receipt, and crossed out the tip box.
Then there was the encounter at the mall, where a woman exclaimed, “Look at their eyes!” I smiled, but my kids shrank back, sensing the stranger’s approach. She looked at me and asked, “Where did they get those eyes? Are they…” But she hesitated, realizing she was overstepping. “Yes, they’re mine. All three of them,” I replied. Her response? “I want some like that!”
Only our eldest child, 4-year-old Kai, has begun to grasp the concept of race, primarily fueled by his fascination with Michael Jackson. After watching the “Black or White” music video numerous times, he asked me, “What color is my skin?” My instinct was to tell him he’s black. After all, he was named after a significant river in Africa. He has been part of our wedding and even drives a mini version of a Dodge Charger! Despite his skin tone, I found myself questioning how much more black he could be.
Growing up in African American culture, I’ve internalized the one-drop rule more than I realized. This historical concept asserts that any trace of African ancestry defines a person as black, regardless of their appearance. I’ve known biracial individuals who have grappled with their identity, often feeling isolated from both black and white communities. Take, for example, the backlash Raven-Symoné faced when she expressed her identity as simply “American” rather than “African American.” Or the criticism directed at Taye Diggs when he encouraged his son to identify as biracial instead of solely black. Both faced severe backlash, being cast aside by portions of the community.
In our home, we encourage Kai to select his own racial identity, independent of his skin tone. Emily prompted him, “What color do you think you are?” This was perhaps one of the most challenging questions he had faced thus far. He smiled, slightly confused, and ultimately replied, “Black, Mama.” I felt a swell of pride, akin to witnessing a black family triumph on Family Feud. It’s not that I harbor ill will towards my wife’s heritage; rather, I’m aware that blackness is often perceived negatively. I was relieved that Kai had not internalized this stigma, which numerous studies have shown is sadly common among children.
While my three boys can easily identify with being biracial or even white, it’s possible they will each choose a different path when it comes to their racial identity. My desire is for them to have the freedom to define themselves without fear of judgment, a mindset that I’m actively working on adopting as well. This aspiration might seem idealistic today, yet it was once just as radical to imagine the very union that led to their creation. Perhaps Michael Jackson was onto something profound.
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In summary, as the parent of biracial children, I strive to give them the autonomy to define their racial identities. Each child may choose their own path, and as we navigate societal perceptions, I hope they grow up feeling empowered to embrace their unique heritage.