It is February once again and that means it is Black History Month. Why the shortest month of the year was designated as such is highly suspect. But I don’t really want to delve into that conspiracy theory at this time. I wanted to take a moment this Black History Month to share what it is like to be Black like me. (Yes, I am taking liberty with a previously established title that is connected to a book, a film and a poem. For a brief history of the title, please click here: Black Like Me).

I am of mixed ethnic heritage. My father is Black; my mother is White. However, I have almost no Black features. I have very curly hair, but it is more of a texture associated with White hair than it is Black. My skin is fair, but I tan easily and rarely burn. Most White people have no idea that I am mixed, but when I tell Black people, many will say that they thought so.

My first major experience of what issues the fact that I am mixed but do not look it would bring occurred in the sixth grade. We had to fill out something that asked us to identify our race. It had Black and White listed amongst other choices but specified to pick only one. I flagged down an administrator to ask what I should put, since I am not one race. I consider myself bi-racial and I will not declare that I am one race or the other; I am both. The administrator approached. I didn’t even get a chance to explain myself. I asked what I should check. He said, “You’re White,” and walked away without a moment’s hesitation. I tried to get his attention again, but couldn’t. I checked both boxes as I fumed at the idea of having to choose between my two heritages.

I am now 31. But even after nearly 20 years, many forms still do not have a choice for bi-racial or multi-racial and still state to pick one. If I’m filling out something on-line that requires this information, I cannot select both and often have to just choose “other” in lieu of a better option. I find this infuriating. I am not an ’other’. That makes it sound like I’m some mutant freak. But, of course, this is how some people see me.

I have had many experiences with bigotry. I have had people who I had been friends with stop speaking to me once they found out my father was Black. I have had people use racial slurs or make other racist remarks against Blacks, assuming I would share in their ignorance. I have had people doubt the truth to my declaring my mixed background, as though that is something to joke about.

I know I developed my sick sense of humor due mostly to these types of incidents. What else can I do but laugh really? The look on people’s faces who have made a racist remark against Blacks in my presence, only to have me say, “I’m Black” is priceless. That would be my favorite Master Card Commercial: Fifty dollars for new outfit to movie premiere…Twenty dollars for movie tickets…Fifty dollar for passes to movie premiere after-party…look on racist partygoer’s face after I inform him that I am Black – priceless.

I also credit some of these experiences with having made me distrustful, defensive and at times, overly aggressive. I tend to go out of my way to challenge conventions and the status quo. Sometimes I feel I choose to be in places where I could be considered an outcast. I worked in a Chinese restaurant for nearly ten years where I was the only non-Asian worker for most of my years there. I currently work for a religious group where I am one of three employees who is not part of the church and the other two are part-time, so I am the only full-time non-church employee. I suppose I have made being an outcast part of how I define myself.

Ultimately, I see it as a good thing, though. Many of my friends might be labeled outcasts by traditional standards. My senior year in high school, I met a group of friends who have become my second family. They were all labeled “freaks” because they dressed or acted “weird”. I have many gay friends who mainstream society would deem “freaks” because of their sexual identity. I have many friends of mixed race heritage. So I know I’m not alone. And I see many more mixed race couples and children than when I was younger. But I had a hard time growing up in a 99% White town. It’s difficult enough during adolescence trying to figure out who you are without adding racial identity into the mix. I must have decided then that I was an outcast and even though I know otherwise now, I find it hard to see myself differently.

I thought I had set most of my struggles with my heritage to rest until last year. I had several incidents occur that left me wondering just how secure I am with it.

The first occurred when I met a friend from work for dinner. She was a customer and we’d talked on the phone and decided to meet. We got to talking, getting to know one another. I asked if she had any siblings and divulged that I had four, but that it was a little funny because I have a Black sister and a White sister and a Black brother and a White brother. She told me, “no offense”, but that she didn’t think God meant for the races to mix. I didn’t know how to react. I was used to people saying stupid things when they didn’t know I was mixed, but to say that after she knew. If I believed in God, I might have really been offended!

I said nothing at the time. I was afraid that if I tried to respond at all, I might go into a blind rage and do something regretful. I did still have to work with her as a customer and also feared jeopardizing my employment if I were to alienate her and lose her business. Still, I couldn’t help feeling that I should have said something. I confronted her about it a few months later when she quit the job where she was a customer of mine. She said she didn’t mean to cause me any pain and apologized stating that she didn’t even recall saying that.

I agonized over this incident every time I had to speak to her. I would think, “Great. I have to talk to this woman who thinks I shouldn’t exist.” And she didn’t even recall saying anything.

I tried to rise above it and not let it bother me, somehow trying to prove that I could. I kept in touch with her through email, aiming to show that I was a wonderful person, as if I could change her mind by showing her how awesome I am (and I am!). But I couldn’t let it go. She will always be the woman who thinks I shouldn’t exist. Perhaps I should have told her that, but I was thinking that was too harsh. How absurd is that? Isn’t the fact that she thinks I’m against God’s will pretty harsh? Don’t I have the right to say that is unacceptable? But then, I have no idea if God does or doesn’t exist and maybe he or she is a racist. Okay. I should have said something.

I was a little bolder a few weeks later when a similar incident occurred. I was at a party and the subject of Las Vegas came up. Someone said that you should always bet on black. A retort was issued: “I don’t like black.” Trying to be funny, I asked, “What’s wrong with black?” in a tone that implied I meant ‘black’ in regard to race. I didn’t think this is what was really meant by the comment; but it was. The person who made the comment responded with, “It’s a bad color” in a tone that made me feel he was implying that having Black skin was bad. I pressed the issue: “Do you mean that you don’t like Black people?” He said that was correct. I said, “My father is Black.” He said, “That’s too bad for you.” I had been drinking and with the other incident still a fresh wound, I replied, “No, that’s too bad for you, Mother (expletive deleted)!”

However, we ended up actually having an open discourse on why he felt that way (he has a shaved head and is often assumed to be a Skinhead) and left on good terms. I pointed out that him hating all Blacks for some that assume he is a Skinhead is just as bad as the people making that assumption. I even hugged him and told him I forgave him.

Another encounter I had recently prompted me to write this article. I was given a script to read and found it to be at least racially insensitive, if not just blatantly ignorant. It portrayed a group of Blacks in Chicago trying to survive by running scams. There was also an element of a company that was supposed to symbolize “selling out”, meaning if you take a “regular job”, i.e. one that you work and are issued a steady paycheck, you’re not really Black. The script’s writers are White.

I found this to be offensive. I told them I went into making films to combat these types of portrayals and wanted nothing to do with the film. The writers defended their ideas, saying, “We grew up in Chicago in a Black neighborhood and these characters are based on people we know.” Maybe they think their characters are accurate representations of The Black Community. But I think that they “knew” these people from a distance and have no idea who they really are and are displaying stereotypical characters lacking any real substance. I did tell them that before they retorted several times and I gave up trying to assert my point of view.

But as I look back now, I see that part of the difficulty I had in asserting my viewpoint was that I was uncomfortable speaking as representing a Black point of view. I somehow felt that perhaps I didn’t have the right to be offended. After all, I look White; I grew up in a mostly White neighborhood. What do I know about being Black?

I know what it is like to have assumptions made about you just because of one facet of who you are. I cannot understand how you can treat me one way when you assume I am White and then treat me another way when you learn I am Black. It certainly is a big part of my identity, but there is nothing within my racial background that you can say I do or I am because of it.

Someone once asked me, “How do you think of yourself?” He meant do I think of myself as Black or White. I responded, “I think of myself as Taryn.”

Obviously, I say I am Black as much as I say I am bi-racial. I seldom describe myself as White. When I do, I’m usually making a joke. I might say, “I can’t dance to this. I guess I am more White than Black.” Perhaps that is a topic for another article. But when I think of myself, I do think of myself as Taryn, and my race is only one of many different ways I define who I am.

I am Taryn, the daughter of Tyrone and Sharon (hence the name – their names put together). I am the wife of Paul. I am friend to many. I am a sister and an aunt. I am a filmmaker. I am vegan. I recycle. I love and protect animals. And I am bi-racial.

Whatever that means to whoever knows it, I am proud to be bi-racial. I say it loud: “I’m bi-racial and I’m proud!”

Do you want to sound off on this topic? email the editor at editor@detroitbuzz.com or you can email Taryn directly!