The First Time & The Last Time...

Alright blogosphere, hold on to your aprons, this could get messy.

I'm going to talk about "race". Not the intellectualized, buttered up and broadcasted view of race, but race from my perspective and life experience.

Let me preface this by saying that this post was brought on by a wildly offensive text I received a couple of days ago questioning the reasoning behind my delving into my past on Ancestry.com. I have since forgiven this person but my patience has been reached and the damage has been done.

However, just to make sure we're getting everything, let's start at the beginning.

I am of mixed heritage. My father is African-American and my mother is Puerto Rican. I identify as a Puerto Rican man. Not black. I love my father and he loves me. He knows that I identify as Puerto Rican and is fine with it. In fact, he encourages it.

All my life I have dreaded the question, "So, what are you?" knowing that they were implying, "What race are you?"
All my life I have felt the overwhelming need to correct people when they call me "black" or the need to explain myself when I call myself Puerto Rican. Yes, when people ask what race I am, I tell them "Puerto Rican." I put it on every legal document. Job application. Even those dumb Facebook surveys.
I do this not because I'm denying a part of myself.
Not because I don't want to be black but because that's how I was raised. My parents collectively raised me to identify with the Latino heritage and I made the conscious choice to identify as Latino when I got older. Being Puerto Rican is all I know.

Ironically, the subject of my heritage has gotten worse as I've gotten older. Some people (yes, that's plural) have even had the nerve to correct me when I told them I was Puerto Rican.

What?!?

When did it become acceptable in American society to question someone when they tell another person their heritage? Let me be very clear, no one has the right to question my own heritage. The fact that someone would even try and correct me is asinine and illogical. Who gave anyone the right to plaster a label on me and file me with a select few people they know? I refuse to just take a number and join the rest of the people you've color categorized in your own mind.

My favourite is, "why do you dress so white?"

Oh that one just kills me for many reasons. One, you are implying that because my skin is darker that I should dress a specific way. Two, you are implying that I shouldn't be wearing the clothes I'm wearing. Three, you are have openly revealed that in your head, there are groups of people and these people wear certain things, say certain things and do certain things. Also, that because I do not fit your set notion of people, that I am wrong.

Isn't that grand? And people wonder why I don't like people...

Let's get one thing straight: the fact that I don't fit into someone's narrow, uncultured view of the world is thrilling. It means that I'm doing something right :)

Now let me clarify, I'm not writing this on my blog because I desire attention or to start something up. I am writing this as the first and the last. This is the first time I have openly addressed race (more specifically my heritage) and will be the last time.

I refuse to explain myself any longer and I refuse to answer the question, "so what are you?" because it is irrelevant.
Is knowing my heritage going to make you want to talk to me more/less?
Is knowing my heritage going to reveal a great mystery?
Is knowing my heritage going to make you want to get to know me more/less?
Is knowing my heritage going to make me more/less attractive?

If the answer is "no" to any of those questions then stop asking, "so what are you?" You might actually be on the road to being one of the few decent people in this country.
If your answer is "yes" to any of those questions then you really need to take a hard look at the way you view people.

As for me?

I am not a label.

Go color code someone else.

Till Next Time...