I know you are curious- and I am here to tell. Read all about how I grew up and my ethnicity.
"It is what it is. There's no sense in being mad about something you can't control"- Sidney Rankin
All my life, I've been asked "what are you?" "where are you from?" and "can I ask you a question.. what nationality are you?"
I've never been offended at explaining my ethnicity to people. It seems to be a sensitive subject to some hence why they normally follow up with "I hope I didn't offend you!".
I am a Biracial African American. I am half European being more England, Scotland, and Wales , and African being from the Cameroon, Congo, and Southern Bantu area in Southern Africa.
I know these to be fact because like most today, I did an Ancestry DNA analysis of my DNA. I got to collect as much spit as I could, send it off it the little tube that they sent, and then wait for the results.
I'll be honest, its pretty cool. Regardless of the government using the saliva collected for whatever reason, annoying I know, but I am really excited for this. I never got the chance to talk to my dad about his past and how he grew up. And unfortunately, my real mom can't be trust to tell the full truth. So this was finally a way for me to get a bit more understanding of who I am and where my family comes from.
Yup- that's me. Wasn't I cute? I was one sassy firecracker of a child according to my dad.
Now, its about to get rough and real , real fast. In the next few paragraphs, I briefly explain how I grew up. It's isn't the best or easiest road, but it's the one I endured and have since then grown to be a different person from that past mental straining.
My real mom, who I don't really communicate with today, was always harsh that I can remember. I never understood what made her so aggressive, but she would be fine one minute and then next not. I never knew if she had bipolar disorder, as she never got technically diagnosed I don't think. Nonetheless, I was the oldest of six kids in a two bedroom house ( most of the time) with an aggressive mom.
I grew up really fast in order to bette take care of and suit my siblings. If our real mom wasn't going to step up to the plate as she should, I was going to do the best that I could. I pulled up my boot straps and started moving. My mom was aggressive in which she was physically violent with us. It wasn't just the normal discipline that most kids, now and then, are used to. a very vivid memory I have was that she said something about how the dishes were never clean ( and mind you, I was an early teen so maybe 10 at the time with a 8 1/2 year old sister, a 6 year old sister, a 4 year old brother and a 1 1/2 old sister). So chores weren't a normal thing for us. We never sat down with mom and said "this is what should done when you get home" again, like most people would do in regards to giving out chores. We always had to have it clean, or get smacked. It was what it was, you know? Nonetheless, this memory was of my real mother mentioning that the dishes weren't going to get down or they were dirty or whatever, and being the preteen I was, I said "yup" to my sister. Next thing I knew, my mother had her hand raised and hitting the day lights out of me and eventually having her hand around my throat slightly chocking me.. because of the dishes..
I won't go much more into detail as I could probably write a novel about how I grew up. But the important part of that story is to show that no matter what situation, that she was a volatile person that could burst at the whisper of a wrong word.
After a while, my dad got the hint and knew what was going on. She kept him from us for years, purposely, until he found us and we were able to finally see him during the summer times. I wasn't really planning on this, and neither was my dad, but I eventually told the truth about my mom.
Unknown to me, my best friend at the time and her mother were constantly trying to get Child Protective Services involved. One day, they did. They came to my school and ask me about what was going on. I told them what I could, and last I knew I was off to live with my dad.
One thing I do remember, is that an adult once told me that I shouldn't have turned my mom in because she was my mom. And to this day, I still don't understand why they would've said that to me. I was a preteen in an abusive family and had no one else to turn top. I don't know if people think that family can do and act anyway towards someone and still be involved in a life with the same significance. Just because she was my mom, that meant that I had to forgive her for all her wrong doing and move on for the sake of family? How is that fair?
I didn't. I stood my ground and told them all about my life. Moving with my dad was one of the most difficult things and best things that ever happened to my life. Sadly, I only had twenty years with him before he passed away. Now, I'm left with memories and lessons he taught me to continue to move forward, even after the death of my son at 7 weeks.
Moving forward is the only way to go, and thats what I plan on doing. If you stuck in this long with, thank you for reading! I'm never afraid to speak my truth and talk about my upbringing. I like to believe that despite what I went through, I'm coming out the other end better and stronger for going through what I did.