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  • Writer's pictureEbonie Williams

My Mixed Life....Part 1

I am a biracial child. In other words, I am a mixed chick. My mother is white and my father is black. When my mother was pregnant with me she imagined a dark skinned curly haired baby, which is why she named me Ebonie. Well, that's not exactly what she got. What she got was a curly headed white girl. Most people don't even know I am half black and half white unless I tell them.

So there I was living in a mostly Hispanic city, looking like a little white girl, walking around with a black daddy. This was during the late 70's early 80's. Did I know I was different? Nope. Not one bit. Didn't care at that time either. It didn't start affecting me until I started school, oh and having a little sister....

Here's my gorgeous parents, before my sister and I were even thought of. Notice the trend setting plaid outfits. My mother made hers!

I came to find out I am part of the "Loving Generation." If you don't know what that is, I tell ya real quick. In 1967, interracial marriage was made legal. Children born to one white parent and one black parent between 1960 and the mid to late 1980's are considered part of the "Loving Generation." That means ME! And yes, my sister too. Pretty cool right?

Now, no offense to my mom, she really did do the best she could with my hair. She is a very talented seamstress and made most of our clothes, the majority of which matched with hers. When it came to my hair...well that was different story. I had massively thick and extremely curly hair. I wanted it long and straight like the white side of my family, however my hair had different ideas. It wasn't even like the black side of my family either. My sister has completely different hair then I do. It wasn't kinky, it wasn't tightly coiled, it was just...well thick, curly and admittedly frizzy. My mom had no idea what to do with my hair. What was even worse, living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, any salons or hairstylists we went to had no idea what to do with it either. So I suffered through elementary school with being made fun of because of my "poofy" hair. Poodle was what most kids called me. I am a lot like my mother and words never really bothered me. I don't remember feeling sad or upset because I was being made fun of. I don't even remember what the kids looked like that made fun of me. It was a small part of my life, but it did help shape me into what I was to become....

Until tomorrow my friends.....

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