People do not know how to act around mixed heritage people

The BBQ Pit
101

My wife is biracial, and neither of her races is the same as mine, so our kids are triracial. We’ve lived in red states and blue, and of the very rare times anyone has said anything dumb about it, it’s been in the context of the person being over-anxious not to say anything dumb. Nobody’s ever said anything the least bit offensive. I know this flies in the face of the universal assumption that Americans can barely conceal their ignorant racism, but there ya go.

It’s mean, but occasionally I’ll use borderline words like Oriental, colored or cracker just to mess with people as I walk my Oriental/colored/cracker kids to the playground. They’re just words. If you really believe color is only skin deep, they wouldn’t bother you.

102

I ask people where they are from. It’s not from a desire to squeeze them into a category, but from a desire to know who they are. The place of a person’s upbringing is usually more valuable to this end than their genetic ancestry. It’s also a deliberately open-ended question, with room for people to put their own spin on what it means and how they want to tell their story.

103

Well, no, I never ask people where they are really from, or what they are, because they really are bass players from Atlanta. I ask what I am interested in, their ethnic background.

I never go up to anyone, this would happen while we’re having coffee or something.

I don’t gush that ‘mixed race’ people are so beautiful; I just make a mild polite remark, because I did just ask a personal question.

Americans* of western european descent and european immigrants always give their forebears nationalities. People of eastern european, middle eastern, or indian descent are often more specific.

  • I’m using ‘American’ and ‘Immigrant’ as short hand for ‘persons born in the United States’ and ‘persons of any citizenship not born in but currently living in the U.S.’

Americans of asian descent, partial asian descent, and asian immigrants usually give their asian forebears nationality; they might mention a more specific ethnicity or a non-asian descent.

Americans of partial african descent often specify the nationality of european ancestors; very few specify the ethnicity or nationality of their african ancestors.

Immigrants of full or partial african descent will specify the ethnicity or nationality of their african ancestors; they very seldom specify a european, asian, or middle eastern ancestry.

Americans of european descent do not mind being asked.
Immigrants of full or partial african descent seldom mind being asked.

Americans of african descent are very wary when asked.
Americans and immigrants of middle eastern descent are very, very wary.

Americans and immigrants of primarily asian descent are all over the board.

Immigrants and people who visit non-american family love to talk about cultural differences. ‘Recent’ Americans love to tell coming to America and assimilation stories. ‘Long term’ Americans love to tell black sheep stories.

And that’s why I keep asking. People love to talk about themselves and their backgrounds, and I find it interesting.

104

I’m going to find it very interesting to talk to my nephew about these things when he gets a bit older - he’s 5 now. My sister and I are of Central/East European Jewish descent, though most people think I look more “ethnic” than she does (I have frizzier hair and more olive skin). People make all kinds of guesses about my ethnic heritage: Armenian, Bulgarian, Italian, etc. My sister’s husband is a rather light-skinned black man, and so my nephew is of somewhat indeterminate ethnicity at first glance. (When I was in Morocco, I thought he looked like a lot of little Moroccan boys. My BIL says he is mistaken for Puerto Rican all the time - at least until he opens his mouth, because he was born and raised in Iowa).

Luckily for my nephew, he is growing up somewhere where all kinds of combos of ethnicity are pretty normal and nobody really blinks an eye at a biracial couple. But it’ll still be interesting to hear his take on these things, and to see how he interacts with the various cultures he’s come from. (Let me tell you, my sister’s wedding was the shotgun culture clash, big-time.)

105

Good comment, j66. I hope you have an ethnic heritage story of your own to give in return.

As I said, I ask people where they’re from (I ask this of people I guess to be Americans of the same ethnicity as myself, too, BTW) in part because this allows them to insert the ethnic component if they want to, if they consider it a relevant part of their story–but if the answer is “Atlanta,” that’s perfectly satisfactory.

I once asked a fellow if he was Yoruba, and he just lit up with pleasure that I knew what Yoruba was and recognized him for one. It’s often a surprise to people from other parts of the world when Americans know anything about where they come from. I don’t know if he’d have been as pleased to be asked simply, “what are you?”

Conversely, I was at a restaurant table when another of our party asked a waitress if she was Maya. She really did have classic Mayan features; the question was meant not so much to get information as to make conversation. But she didn’t like it at all, said “no,” seemed agitated.

106

Are Mayans looked down upon in that society? Not that that’s your intention at all, but I’ve learned that you have to consider what the person him or herself might think of that description, or what they might assume you’re trying to say. Around here (Taiwan), for example, even though I think Filipinas can be very attractive, I’d hesitate ever to ask someone if they were Filipina – they might think I was making fun of their dark skin or their nose or something, or maybe that I’m implying that they have a menial job. (Sorry! Like I said, it’s not me, it’s society!)

107

Remember: one drop rule.

108

Yes, I think my companion’s mistake was precisely not to anticipate this possibility. This was a restaurant in the United States, but I think the waitress came out of a Mexican or Guatemalan cultural context in which very distinctively “Indian” features, as opposed to more Spanish or blended ones, are seen as low-class, provincial, whatever.

109

I was 11 when my American Dad took me and my German mother and brother to the USA.

I didn’t want to go, and the MP’s had to chase me all over the airport, because I kept running away. Finally they sedated my little ass and I woke up mid-air headed here and eventually to Georgia.

Please do not misunderstand what I’m fixin’ to write, okay?

Here in the USA, I was given some wonderful education and incentive to succeed, which I think I have done, and I am VERY grateful for this.

But still.

I felt like I was brought here against my will. Because at age 11, a little boy has formed his love of friends and “Heimat” (“Homeland”). I knew I was leaving my friends, my school mates and my home.

At age 7, my Mom got TB and it was decided I would go to (then Communist-Occupied) East Germany to live with my Oma (grandmother).

My Mom and Dad weren’t married at the time, and I was a bastard even then, you see!:slight_smile:

My Oma was very poor and didn’t need a 6th mouth to feed. (At that time I had 4 uncles and 1 aunt who still lived at home).

But there I was, and there I would be for almost 2 years.

I learned to steal eggs and cabbages from farmers and I learned to beg for bread (Kleb) from the Russian soldiers’ bakery, and I learned to sleep with rats crawling all around me. We were poor people and I can still remember the first time I tasted a Coca Cola. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, y’all! :slight_smile:

Then I learned about Communism in the “Young Pioneers”. I became a drummer (snare) which my American Dad already was. He played part-time in a little jazz band which was formed to play in the Officer’s club.

So I guess I was a Communist for a while. (Which the American Air Force knew when they gave me a “Secret” clearance to work in Crypto on a SAC base in North Dakota.)

Rewind… 1960…

During my years in the south, in school, I was bullied because I spoke English with a very heavy German accent, and it wasn’t until the 60’s, when I grew my hair out and started playing drums (a la Beatles) that I was fully accepted. Fargin’ Hypocrateses! :wink:

In 1970, I was about to be drafted, but elected to join the US Air Force instead. Somehow the “powers” knew about my Communist childhood baclground, but still granted me a “Secret” clearance to work in Crypto on A SAC base in Minot, North Dakota. (Since disassembled)

Fast Forward…It wasn’t until 1988 (I think it was), that I went back home for the first time since 1960.

I remember sitting at an airport bar in Frankfurt and drinking my first real German beer (Bitburger) and getting into a conversation with the German guy sitting next to me.

I was surprised at how much of my native language I remembered, and soon I found myself telling him I am German-American. He said he knew. :slight_smile:

And then he asked me something very important:

“How much of you is German and how much American?”

I couldn’t answer him then, but I can now.

I am 100% German, even though I am not thought of as such in either of my countries.

I had to be naturalized in order to join the Air Force, but I could have been drafted into the Army.

My son Jason was only 8 days old at the time, and D (the first and future wife) and I ran around to all the recruting stations so that I could get a “deferred” (I don’t remember the terminology, so please help me out vets, thanks) enlistment, which meant I could stay with D and our son 60 more days and then report for duty.

I am sorry if this seems “disjointed”, but hopefully y’all can make sense of all of this?

Bottom line, though?

Thanks very VERY much, America, but I’m a German (happy) Boy!

Thanks

Q

110

Huh?

Well, anyway, if it wasn’t for America you’d be speaking German now! How do you like those kartoffeln?

111

I’m sorry. I thought I was posting appropriately.

Sorry!

Quasi

112

Quasi, I think your story of your identity is fine. The thread has diverged a little from the Original Point, no problem.

113

I think what is so aggravating is that it just isn’t useful information. There is nothing they could possible learn from that information that would make them understand the world or you any better. In fact, it probably doesn’t really matter what you say. You could pick any random race or combination of races, and they’d nod, perhaps say another dumb-ass comment, and go on their way. They don’t really care.

They don’t want to know if your Dad was a Wodaabe singer who migrated across the desert and fell in love with your mother the Spanish schoolteacher. Or if your mother was a diplomat who fell in love with your dad at a state dinner. Or if you just grew up the product of suburban high school sweethearts. All of these are covered under the same words: “I’m half-black.”

Which makes you feel like even if people say it doesn’t matter…well, it clearly does matter.

114

Whew! Thanks, spark240!:slight_smile:

I thought I had posted in the wrong thread there, and it took me a long time to write all that stuff! :eek:

Glad it is accepted!

Thanks
Q

115

Bullshit. That’s not what you said in your OP, and it’s not what anyone else said until monstro came along and introduced some sense into this conversation.

You and others have flat out said that someone asking about your racial heritage offends you. Some have even pointed out that they know the person isn’t trying to be offensive. And yet they are still offended.

In fact my first instinct was to point out how I’ve successfully talked to people about racial or ethnic heritage, and often the first time we’ve ever met. And if it annoyed or offended them, they sure have an odd way of showing it, lighting up, talking about it at length, and then continuing to talk to me on a regular basis, often to the point where we become friends.

I’m sorry it offends you, but it doesn’t offend a lot of people, and I can’t please everyone. I’m not going to again be one of those people who tiptoes around the subject, constantly being aware of your race and treating you differently because of it. I know people for whom that is offensive, and, generally, these are people I relate to better. I don’t have to treat them differently because of their race/ethnicity/whatever.

If you want to backpedal and make this about how people ask rather than what they ask, then fine. But it’s stupid to get mad when you didn’t make that clear.

116

Actually, I would find all of that interesting, and is the type of thing I expected to come out of the conversation about your heritage. I just picked the most superficial thing first, just like I’d do in any other conversation.

I can’t imagine actually taking the time out to talk to someone one on one without being interested in them. Even with smalltalk I’m usually interested in the person and I’m just seeing how interested they are in talking to me.

I admit that, if I were like you were saying, I would consider myself to be racist. I just question that the majority of people are this way.

117

Personally, I’m not thrilled when people feel it’s not enough to compliment my kid on her looks or intelligence, but must extrapolate to how it fits some theory of theirs about race mixing and “hybrid vigor” or some such crypto-eugenicist bullshit.

118

I’m not playing any game.

If you choose to regard yourself as American, Wisconsinite, African-American, Chinese-American or whatever, that’s your preferred view of your cultural heritage. I’ve got no problems with that. And I really don’t care much either.

If I’m asking which person in the group over there I should talk to about something, I’d be fine with the answer “the black gentleman” if he’s the only one in the group with a dark-brownish skin color. Or “the oriental-looking lady” if she’s the only one in the group with an epicanthic fold on her upper eyelids. But I would be confused if the guy I should talk to looked like this, and I was told that he was black. Because his most apparent visual characteristic - at least to me - on that picture is not “race”, but that he’s wearing an A-shirt and has a goatee and a mustache.

My point is: Since I don’t share the American history of slavery and the civil rights movement, the “one drop rule” seems totally stupid to me, and I’d never think that this guy is “black”. Because to me, “black” is about visual appearance, not about genes. If you choose to self-identify as “black”, I’m even fine with that, but please allow me to be slightly and silently confused if you look like this, because that skin doesn’t look “black” to me, because for me “black” is a color, not a genetic heritage thing. OK?

And if I am offending people now, I’d like to ask for a little leniency and apologize as well, because I don’t share the American cultural and historical heritage, and English is my second language. OK?

119

It’s happened to me. I had an afro at the time, and the person wanting to do the touching was always white. Sometimes it was a classmate. Other times, it was a friend’s parent.

120

My personal favorite comments on my race (Asian), which usually is the cheeky, mildly condescending “do you know kung fu?” were as follows:

  1. “Do you know how to breakdance?”
  2. “Are you related to Bruce Lee?” (My last name is Lee and I don’t look anything like him. And I’m not Chinese)