I check Other.

I read an article posted on Facebook about someone's struggle with being other. It's got me thinking about my own ethnic identity and my decision of the last few years to identify as Other rather than Black. Now lots of folks nowadays have a really diverse racial/ethnic background. This is just one chick's story.

I am a product of multiracial parents. My father's father is Indian and his mother was a descendant of African slaves. My mother's heritage is a bit more confusing...there's a some Spanish (her maternal grandparents are from Venezuela), there's some Asian heritage of unknown origin and there's some African ancestry.

Like many Caribbean families, my family is a hodgepodge of ethnicities. Five of my mother's seven siblings are Hispanic. Not Latino mind you. Their father was a pure Spaniard. I  think they identify as Black, at least the ones living in the United States do. Interestingly, it's a question I've never asked.

My father's seven siblings all look Indian except for one who looks more like his mother, a light-skinned Black woman. Their last name is Singh. My father is the oldest and didn't meet his father until he was in his 20s. His mother is a dark-skinned woman of African descent. The story is an interesting one I won't tell here but he has his mother's last name and, much to his father's chagrin, decided against changing it when they finally met. I wonder what my life would have been like had my last name been Singh. No doubt it would have added another layer.

I identify as Black. I've fought long and hard for this privilege. Through my high school years and in my early twenties I was teased by my peers about not being Black. My hair wasn't Black enough. My skin wasn't Black enough. And my heritage wasn't Black enough. I wasn't Southern. I'd never had chitlins. I didn't know you ate black-eyed peas on New Year's for good luck. I wasn't African-American. I owned a t-shirt with "Just Black" emblazoned across the front. When I arrived in Chicago at the age of 24, and started hanging out with people whose ancestors were mostly from Alabama, Arkansas, and Mississippi, I received quite an education.

Growing up in NYC, I was regularly mistaken for Dominican, sold on being part Korean by quite a few shop owners, and possibly from a plethora (i love that word!) of African countries. When I arrived in Chicago, I was Black/African American. I remember the first time someone assumed my ethnicity as Black/African American, I was startled.

Among my three siblings, I am the Black one. One is...hmmm...no idea, one is Pakistani, and one is Mexican. True story.

Over the years, I've changed the way I think of my racial/ethnic identity. I'm more comfortable with my multiracial background. Yet, I solidly have a Black woman's mindset and identify as such. I can't imagine mating with a man who is not Black. I prefer them dark. When I was younger, it was intentional. If I ever had children, I didn't want them to doubt, in any way, that they were Black. So i needed some sure nuff Blackness to counteract all of my stuff. And on some level, I still feel this way.

I think this is another Part I blog. There's so much to explore here. We haven't even discussed the fact that I now mark Other on forms, or that I'm okay with identifying as Black, after all it is a diasporic term, but not African American. Nor have we discussed the fact that my mother refused to identify as any racial/ethnic group but instead insisted she was colorless and Christian.

So there's more to come. Some day.

Always remember Jesus loves you...doesn't matter who you are, what you've done, or what your issues are. I'm living proof.