Poppie, I am Brown...

Ever drive by the life you thought you wanted 2, 4, 10, 20 years ago and ponder wether or not you chose to change it or it changed you? I sat in a room full of Fairfield CT, kindergartners and their parents this morning for a "Celebration of Learning". I was asked a few times who I was to the child whom I was there for, a few of them charged forward with the "Are you her mom?" and "Hi, we're so and so's parents and you are?", to wich I smiled and stumbled into a far too wordy explanation about her mom and I being friends. Others began but had trouble rounding the corner while their brains worked way too hard to figure out how "Aunty Meghan" was related to this blonde haired little white girl. For those that couldn't ask but started to, I attempted to fill the silence with either my knowledge of who they were or an awkward smile and a go ahead I dare you look I like to think I learned from my m0m. Now, it is completely reasonable to think perhaps I am over reacting, maybe these kind folks were just suprised because my friend, the childs mother was the most popular room mother of all and they were very concerned about her health because some tragic plague is the only way she would miss this momentous event in her daughters life. In my time waiting for the lemonade toast to the childrens accomplishments I checked the room one last time for the token black kid, he must have come down with a case of that same plague my friend had because he was definitly no where to be found. The two spanish children in the room, one boy, one girl, must have met the diversity standards for the class and I have a slight feeling their mothers just assumed I was spanish as well. Bringing the brown kids to three in a class of maybe 23.

The part that concerns me is how many of these kids and their parents know or spend time with anyone that doesn't also have white skin and live between Fairfield and the New York state line? How many of them assumed I was the nanny and how many didn't care because like me, they were only there because they love the kid they were there for. For me this type of situation is startling in a few new ways but for the most part, this has been and always will be a part of my life. I have never been one or the other, black or white, I will always be both, I will always look spanish to someone and my crayon will always be burnt sienna. The child I was there for is also always going be loved infinitely by me just like her older sister, and these kids along with their brother will always hold the biggest chunk of my heart. They don't care wether I am chocolate or vanilla, they have no bones about tellin people about Aunty Meghan and though they haven't quite figured out how yet, they are completely certain we are related. The other kids all seemed pretty cool but someday they will meet someone browner than me and some day those parents are going to attempt in the most republican and politically correct manner, to explain race to their underexposed and overpriviledged first and second graders.

The Celebration of learning was over promptly an hour after it began, and I went on with my day. I spent time with my grandmother, took her to get her hair cut and get treats from the evil empire known as Starbucks. This was a much more familier and comfortable burnt sienna situation. My Grammie is very petite and well, you guessed it, white. She also has Alzheimers disease, these factors combined have resulted in some very interesting situations and are sure to only get more fantastical over time. During my vacation last year I visited my grandparents in Florida, Grammie and I stopped in a Walgreens or CVS, she was in my line of view for most of this outting but I turned for a few moments and she pocketed a lipstick. I asked her if she was all set she said yes the clerk rang my things out and gave me a nasty stare and I just figured the clerk was having a bad day. Then we got home and wouldn't you know, Grammie had all her money still but was insisting she had paid for the new lipstick she was showing my grandfather.

For my Grammie and I at this point its pretty much the same as it is with my friends children. She doesn't care what color I am, just that I'm spending time with her and much like the kids, sometimes she's not sure how we're related either, she just knows we are. When I brought her home my grandfather stepped away from his baseball cards just long enough to ask if I'd found a job and name a few local towns I should try to work for. Upon mention of one town I said "Poppie, they don't really like brown there." He responded in a fashion only he could, "You're not brown, you're a person, I don't see what browns got to do with it." he said. The thing is my grandfather has rarely if ever acknowledged that his grandchildren are anything but white. This colorblind attitude is not that of a progressive thinker but more the ignorant bliss of an elderly man who at some point chose to put the blinders on and preserve a relationship with his grandchildren and their parents. There was a time where I may have argued with him and gotten frustrated but today I just smiled and left it alone. I love each of my grandparents in all of their craziness but lately sometimes I love my grandfather a little extra because I think maybe he needs it. Perhaps, beyond the superficial junk, those parents this morning need a little more love too and maybe their kids will teach them a thing or two before they become blissfully ignorant elderly folks. My name is Aunty Meghan, my crayon is burnt sienna, I am black and I am white. This is part of who I am as a person not because I want it to be but because it is, I am many other things and my personality is all over the place but among those other things I will be brown until I'm mulch.