Empowering My Biracial Children to Embrace Their Own Racial Identities

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My partner, Lisa, was seated on the couch, tears streaming down her face. Concerned, I asked her what was troubling her. She hesitated before murmuring, “I just worry that our child won’t look like me. What if people think I’m just his babysitter?”

I’m African American, and Lisa is Caucasian. Together, we have three wonderful children. Our youngest, only 18 months old, has dark eyes and a beautifully ambiguous tan complexion, reminiscent of the radiant women in hip-hop videos. Our two older kids, ages 4 and 5, sport striking blue eyes and fair skin. While it’s clear I’m their dad and not a babysitter, strangers sometimes question our family connections.

As the father of two biracial children with lighter skin, I often find myself in awkward situations that could rival an episode of a talk show. A curious mother at the playground recently stared at us before mustering the courage to ask, “Where did the kids come from?” If I had been quicker on my feet, I might have joked, “From down the street,” but instead, I simply replied, “They’re mine.” Then there was the restaurant owner who, upon seeing my credit card with my kids’ pictures, warned, “If they marry white people, their kids will be all white. All your blackness… gone.” I just nodded and signed the receipt, hoping not to offend him with my thoughts.

Only our eldest, 5-year-old Aiden, has begun to understand the concept of race, largely influenced by his fascination with music videos. After watching Michael Jackson’s “Black or White” numerous times, he asked, “What color is my skin?” Instinctively, I thought of saying he’s black. After all, he was named after the river that flows through Africa, and he’s been immersed in our culture.

However, I’ve realized I’ve internalized the one-drop rule more than I thought. This outdated belief holds that even a drop of African ancestry makes someone black, regardless of appearance. I’ve known biracial individuals who felt isolated from both black and white communities. Just look at the backlash Raven-Symoné faced when she expressed a desire to be identified as simply American.

We decided to let Aiden choose his racial identity. Lisa encouraged him by asking, “What color do you think you are?” This question seemed monumental to him. After a moment of thought, he replied, “Black, Mama.” I felt a swell of pride, similar to when a black family triumphs on a game show. It reassured us that he didn’t view blackness as negative, a mindset that many children adopt.

Though my boys can identify as either white or biracial, or even choose a different identity entirely, my hope is they’ll have the freedom to define themselves without judgment. This may sound idealistic, but just a few decades ago, our relationship would have seemed implausible. Maybe Michael Jackson had it right after all.

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In summary, my journey as a parent of biracial children has highlighted the importance of allowing them to embrace their own identities. I aim to foster an environment where they can self-define, free from societal pressures or prejudices.