I Am Brown

I've had kind of a weird experience this past week. Last Sunday my visiting teachers came over. One of them is Native American. She was telling us how she had a couple experiences that week with people coming up to her expecting her to know Spanish, and how in most of her college classes she was the only non-white girl. I really enjoyed the conversation, because it was nice to have someone else to talk to about being brown besides my sisters. However, the aftermath was that I was VERY AWARE that I was brown. I have grown up in the same town my whole life and definitely act whiter than some caucasians I know, so most of my life I've never been that aware that I'm darker than most other people. But that day I went to church, and as I sat in class I looked around and realized that I was the only brown person in attendance.

And all of a sudden I felt self-conscious.

Then the next Sunday I got to go to church back east. As I sat in church I noticed there was definitely a better mix of color. Many African American, many whites, and many in between. Did I feel more at home? Not really. I mean, I definitely didn't feel like I stood out, but I've grown up with whites my whole life and that's what I'm used to, so it was a little weird to have a better mix. For the most part having brown skin isn't a big deal to me. In fact, I've grown to like it and think it is very pretty. It does bring a few problems though. For instance, there was that time in 9th grade where this guy told me that he had been talking to the guy I liked and that they had decided they could probably never marry a black person. This stung on many levels. Like, did he realize what a jerk he was, not only for thinking that, but for saying it? And did he realize that I was not, in fact, black? Looking back, I don't know if he ever did actually talk to my future boyfriend about this or if he was lying, because he turned out to be the biggest jerk on the face of the planet on many different levels to many different people (I had the misfortune of attending the same schools as him from elementary through high school graduation). Another problem is that nearly every single person I encounter will inevitably ask me, within the first 5 minutes of meeting, where I'm "from." I think this is very rude. First off, I know what you're asking. You don't want to know where I'm from, you want to know why I'm brown. Secondly, knowing what they really mean to say, I think that's a little nosy upon a first meeting. Over the years I've given many different answers and retorts depending on my mood, but usually it's just a weary "I'm from Utah. . ." and then change the subject. I've never yet had the heart to tell someone I think they're rude for asking. None of my close friends or respected colleagues asked me this question until well after we knew each other. For this I will always respect and appreciate them. I never once agreed to date a guy who had asked me this question upon first meeting. Enough of that. There are good parts to being half brown, of course! My favorite is my right to claim my White/Brown heritage when convenient. ("Ha ha, you white people all look the same. . ." or "as a fellow white American, I could never do that. . .") And I get to carry out the customs and traditions from each side that I like and discard the ones I don't without anyone's feeling being hurt. (Although my mom's pretty "white" too, so I have very few Indian traditions) Anyway, trip's been fun. . . I'll post pictures and summaries when we get back to Utah to all you white people! :D