"I was raised by the white side of my family, in mostly white areas. I had white friends most of my life, not because of any type of preference, but because that’s who was around. I grew up Eastern European folk dancing in the Santa Cruz Mountains with my family. I had plum pudding at Christmas, and my first celebrity crush was Neil Patrick Harris. During both childhood and adulthood, I’ve had others try to define me the way they wanted to, which varied depending on who was doing the defining...
As I’ve gotten older, the labeling hasn’t stopped, but my self-identity has gotten stronger. Most of the time I see myself as mixed, but when I see black men and women brutalized or killed for breathing while black, I’m black, and proudly, viscerally so...
I do have some white privilege. I know, for instance, that black men like my “good hair” and light skin. I know in most circumstances I am not seen as a threat against the status quo. I know there are some who see me as white, or as a “good black,” and that they treat me accordingly whether I want them to or not. But when I pause at my front door because a stranger may turn the corner and shoot me for walking down the street while black, my “good hair,” light skin, and preppy attire don’t make me feel safe. Instead, what makes me feel safe is the knowledge that I’m surrounded by other black friends and family, and mixed-race friends, who are just as viscerally upset by recent injustices as I am."
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