On Race and My Growing Knowledge Of It

This may seem odd to those of you who know me, but I did not consider myself "white" growing up. Not really at all, until recently.

As a kid growing up overseas, always a minority in a different culture, you might think I would be sensitive to race issues. But my little friends came in every color of the rainbow, and we're not talking upper-middle class all-our-houses-look-identical rainbow, oh no: sleep overs were cross cultural experiences. Heck, my own brother was photo-opposite of me! White-blond hair and blue eyes vs dark-brown hair and eyes? we used to speculate, as little kids will sometimes, whether one of us was adopted; but we could never decided which one. :)  I tanned like a dream, and even my parents used to joke that I looked more like a native than an American.

It wasn't that we were unaware of our color differences, it's just that we didn't understand why they mattered. To my child mind, it never occurred to me that people would dislike each other based on looks alone (I have confirmed this as an adult with my brother; he too felt that way).

When I came back to the States in high-school I was always very tan, and there were always "white" kids around (Chicago-land; go figure). I knew what they were, but I don't think I ever mentally filed myself under an ethnic category. I knew my parents were white; and my brother through his (unfortunate; ask him about the Korea incident, very funny!) blond hair and blue eyes... but I didn't look like them. I learned about racism in History class, which is where I thought racism was: in the past, part of history. A goner. Done. Over. Something my grandmother occasionally did as a consequence of her cultural upbringing (she is very old), but heavens, not something any rational, intelligent person would ever do.

I am ethnically ambiguous, and if I've spent even a few hours in the sun can be (and have been; by nationals mind you, as well as uninformed Americans) mistaken for any number of things: Italian, Egyptian, Hispanic, Spanish, Hawaiian, even mulatto. When lifeguarding in college I won the unofficial "darkest tan" contest among the guards by a mile (I'm even a sunscreen nut); they marveled that my tan-lines were "inter-racial"... their words, not mine. My Kuwaiti friend used to take me around in Bahrain and say "don't speak until I'm done negotiating: they'll never guess you're American with the way you look, unless you talk". Even from a young age I was proud of this cultural chameleon ability I had nothing to do with; it came in very handy.

But a desk job later, I'm not "ethnic" like I used to be; although people still often comment "you look tan, did you go on vacation?" to which I respond "I was born tan" with a big grin. (hey, it's true! I totally get it from my great grandma on my mom's side!)

It wasn't until I moved into DC that I found myself lumped into the "white" category. Here, when accosted on the street with "what you looking at white b!%#?" I looked over my shoulder. When youth yelled across the library "hey white lady?", I didn't think they meant me. Slowly it has dawned on me that, here, Black = "black" (unless, of course, you're actually from somewhere in Africa; then you're ostracized by the Black community, as are pale blacks, as are non-metroDC upper-middle class blacks), and Hispanic = English As A Second Language, and White = Everyone Else.

I'm really, truly not trying to be offensive. It's still a little shocking to me! I am not used to racism and living here is like a crash course on a hundred years of racial upbringing I never had! But that is just my take on the fallout here. Just in case I have offended, please know that I am earnestly growing in my understanding of this city's deep history, and hope to continue to learn and grow.

It is very odd to me to be judged instantly on the color of my skin. I have to force myself not to judge back, because I always though, only mean people (see childish influence) or people who didn't know better would do that. I have to tell myself not to look down on people who are racist against me for being white, which I have as little control over as they have. It is quite novel to be stared at on the bus because I'm the only white woman riding it; I've been stared at before, but not because of that, not in my own culture, not in my own town, not on my daily commute.

And I find myself thinking things when that happens: starting with....
Why are they staring at me? Oh right, I'm "white". Wait.... havent' they seen a white woman before? Come on people, does my presence justify staring? Then again, why am I the only white woman on the bus?

I don't know any of the answers, and I'm guessing this is just the glorious beginning of my foray into racism and history and DC.
And "being white".