I Cringe When I Think of the Time I ‘Didn’t See Race’
But I won’t let being race-aware take over my life
Whenever my dad tries to flirt with my mom — and that’s often — he calls her Negra, which is Spanish for “Black woman.” My mom is Black, and my dad is White. Not “real” White, as pointed out by a friend of mine. He is a White Latino.
Whenever my dad calls my mom Negra, you can feel the love in his voice. To this day, whenever he calls me Negro, I feel warm inside, and I know he’s about to say something sweet.
I grew up in the Dominican Republic, a beautiful island in the Caribbean. Back home, people are more conservative than here in the U.S. Political correctness isn’t as pervasive there. Back home, I thought about my Blackness infrequently — usually when my mom would tell me to put lotion on my elbows because they were ashy.
Then I came to the U.S., and I was reminded of my skin color every time I moved. I encountered “Black” conferences and “Black” student unions, “Black” movies, and “Black” music. I didn’t know how to handle the shift, and I found it annoying. I felt like a token everywhere I went. At every turn, I was reminded I was different from everyone else. When asked what my college could do to make us feel more included, I stood up and said to stop having “Black events.” It made me…
