…I just didn’t realize that you were talking to me. You would think that I understood this conundrum before moving to a neighborhood in Manhattan where the residents are primarily of Dominican descent. How upper Manhattan has proved me wrong.
There are many great perks and opportunities that come along with being ethnically ambiguous. It makes for great conversation, people tend to be interested in your appearance, and you get to check that cool box at the end of forms that says “Multi-Racial/Ethnic”. However, there are an equal amount of disadvantages that come with ethnic ambiguity. It makes for long, drawn out conversations, people tend to be too interested in your appearance, and you have to check that little box at the end of forms which should really just say “Racial Mutt”. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change my family heritage for anything. Not many people can say that they are both first and sixteenth generation American. It was only as I began to hit premature puberty that people started to ask “Hey, what are you anyways?” I quickly learned to squash the urge to respond that I am merely a female homo sapien, no different from my blonde haired, blue eyed best friend sitting next to me at lunch reading a Jane Austen novel.
It was this very friend of mine who first opened my eyes to the unintentional ignorance of many to their mixed friends. Over lunch one day in high school as we probably discussed the intricacies of Nigerian government for a sadistic AP class she simply said, “Yeah, until we were like, ten, I just assumed that you were half Black.” You can imagine my surprise. We had been best friends since preschool. Spent every snow day sledding on the country club golf course. To our peers, we were an inseperable unit. My quizzical look prompted her to elaborate.
“I mean, I really just didn’t know any better. I knew your mom was white and that you had much tanner skin than me, and of course I’d met your dad. In my head it just meant that you were half Black. I couldn’t have cared either way.”
As far as admissions of ignorance go, this was probably one of the most honest perspectives on my background that I every received. She didn’t care either way. Difference made no difference to her. During a recent, and very much overdue, rendezvous in New York, we recalled this conversation. She took great delight in my 97% Dominican neighborhood. When we went for a bite at my favorite neighborhood restaurant, we sat down and she squealed “Ah, THIS is where all the white people are.” I roared with laughter. Even in New York we were not impervious to notice racial trends.
“Yes, you’re right. I’ve never blended in while standing out so well at the same time.”
Aside from a few trusty neighbors and my super, everyone in my neighborhood of Inwood would swear that I am either Puerto Rican or Dominican. It’s the best camoflauge a twenty-something could ask for. I blend in. No one stares. Ok, they all stare, but that’s a different story. It’s only when someone tries to talk to me that the jig is up. One semester of college Spanish left me nowhere near being able to converse in the language. I live in constant fear of offending a friendly old woman in the elevator because I had no idea she was talking to me. Maybe there should be some international interjection used to get someone’s attention before starting a conversation. And no, it shouldn’t be “Hey, mami!!” It would save me a lot of worry.
Luckily, I’m not the only one who has this problem. New York City is full of a generation whose parents are of different races. It’s somethething we’re used to here. Everyone is something, therefore, no one is anything. Racial difference has turned out to be one of the great equalizers of this city. I’m not delirious. There are still plenty of racial stereotypes floating around that will probably never disappear. But for Generation Y and those who followed it, these prejudices continue to dissipate. It’s almost expected that you have a cool story about your family. Even the entertainment industry embraces this fact. Ethnic ambiguity makes you a perfect fit for commercials advertising tampons, soft drinks, technology, and family restaurants. Furniture stores and wireless carriers love you too. It’s only the uber specific Law and Order: SVU casting notices that leave me hanging. To my dismay I do not fit the recent posting looking for “Union to portray caucasian male pizza delivery rapist.” Darn, I’m gonna have to pass on that one.
I’ve learned not to let my ethnicity control my life. It may impact me on a daily basis, but it will never get me down. There are just a few realities to get used to. I’ll never play a Jet, but always a Shark. Auditioning for a production of Hairspray is just dumb. A small woman of Asian descent will probably play Princess Jasmine in the upcoming Broadway production of Aladdin. The man at the Halal market will always be confused. My family will always be able to talk about me without my knowing. And most of all, I’ll always be different. Different in an exciting, vibrant, new millennium sort of way. Different in the kind of way that, fifty years from now, might just be ordinary. I better enjoy it while it lasts. For now, I should probably invest in Rosetta Stone for both Spanish and Arabic…just to be safe.