Little Boy, GIANT Ambiguity

Last post I talked about our son and patriarchal expectations.

Because our little prince carries two cultures in his veins and his heart, I felt it fitting to speak of the huge ambiguity he carries every moment of every day.

Our little guy is only two years old, so his biggest worries right now are picking up his toys before bed, being quick enough to keep pace with his sister, and absorbing all the information two-year-olds need to be their best little selves. His little world is kept simple by us, the doting parents. We make sure his days are full of fun and learning, with memorable experiences thrown in for enrichment. However, he still shoulders an ambiguity many of us can't even imagine.

Our son is biracial. Multicultural. To evoke a phrase I hate--he's mixed. While I dont like the phrase, let me be clear: I don't hate that he's "mixed," obviously. I just hate that a word used for drinks or fruit bowls is also thrown around to describe humans. He isn't a little of this and a little of that thrown haphazardly together. He's a purposeful, intentional combination of my genes and his father's. It wasn't chance or luck.

Because of that, he will toe a delicate line for the rest of his life.

He has a strong, beautiful name. A breathtaking Tamil first name and a powerful African middle name make for an unforgettable introduction indeed. We chose those names deliberately, after careful thought and endless conversations. We weren't just going to give him any old moniker. We needed his name to make a statement about him, to announce his power and purpose like the heralding of a thousand trumpets. We gave respect to both lineages, both families.

In the current political climate, his name is a double-edged sword. From the uneducated and uncultured, our boy will field and correct misconceptions about his religion. We are not Muslim (nor would we be ashamed to be), but many assume we are based on our name. We are not Arabic. Our son, with his dark curls and piercing stone-colored eyes, will not understand you if you break out your best phrases culled from high school Spanish, as he is not Hispanic.

On the flip, he will always be welcomed within his respective communities. He'll probably be a shoo-in for almost any academic program he chooses, and he will have the support of a huge extended family when it is time to seek work.

In the present day, I feel like he walks a fine line. He will always choose to either educate people about his rich lineage or simply allow them their ignorance. He will adjust to being watched, because people are fascinated with his skin tone and hair.

He will develop his own system for dissuading the attention of fetishists also.

See, there is a tendency among people, particularly the most racist Whites and the most self-hating Blacks, to glorify biracial children. They're sooooo cute. They have such good hair! They're gorgeous. Our son will have to figure out how to navigate or avoid those people and conversations at the same time most babies are learning the alphabet.

I have personally known a woman who was raising her two biracial grandsons and battling for custody of her biracial granddaughter. The woman was White, and lived in the same tiny town as us. We frequented the same nail salon! I met her on a very bad day, but she gushed over my daughter (who is not biracial) and me as if we were melanin angels. I made a quick friend, so I thought. When our son was born, no one doted over his photos more than she. He was perfection in her eyes, much like he was in ours.

The election brought out a side to her that I didn't know. I foolishly assumed she loved all people because she loved my daughter and me so freely. The burn from a forgotten Facebook post lingers--she was ranting about her daughter's choice in men, and how she wished she would leave "those people" alone and find a "decent southern White boy" to settle with because "the children were already marked, no need to ruin them further by taking them around those people."

Ladies and gentlemen, in 2017, she was still referring to Black people as "those people." She hated the part of her grandchildren that didn't directly reflect her. She hated her daughter for choosing love by character content versus skin color.

...and here I was, thinking she was Aunt Donna. If she hated her daughter's choice in men, surely she hated mine even more. I'm Black, my husband is Brown. There's no way we could associate with her now.

Of course, she found our kids perfectly adorable.

Our son will bear this particular scenario throughout his life. People will be drawn to his beauty. (He is a gorgeous child, and I'm not saying that because he's mine.)

Unfortunately that beauty will also draw jealousy.

No matter. He is being raised with pride in his Blackness. He knows about Kwanzaa. We talk to him about Black history. We show him examples of Black excellence, past and present. He and his generation are the future, and we make sure he is aware. He will understand his power, his undeniable ability to effect positive where the world seems determined to see negative.

On the other side of the coin, we know he will someday wonder will he ever be Indian enough?

He bears the name. He speaks the language. He has been immersed in the culture since conception. He will make voyages to spend time with that part of his lineage, to see and feel his Tamil origins. He will understand and cherish his roots.

It seems a heavy proverbial load for a little baby, a tiny boy, to shoulder. Alas, he shall, and he shall with ease.

We will prepare him and fortify him so it isn't too heavy. We will also be there to hold it for him should it become too cumbersome.