The Day in the Life of an Interracial Family

I am lying on the couch with strep throat for the third time in 6 months. My 21/2 year old is playing with her new kitchen set she got for Christmas and offering me tea every 5 minutes. My just turned 6 year old is running back and forth with his new Tonka truck making loud noises. Both are oblivious to the pain in my throat and head. But I lay there watching them, thinking about lucky I am to have them in my life.

My husband is on the phone with his father discussing 9/11 and asking him why he thinks they really blew up the planes. He is taking a terrorism class, working towards his bachelor's degree, although he has been in the Coast Guard 15 years. The conversation turns from terrorism, to racism, to my very own children. It is something that I try not to ever think about, yet think about every day. I hear him make a comment about the fact that he has talked about our children facing racism with me before. Then my daughter jumps on me not realizing that mommy is sick, while my son is singing along with the cartoons on the T.V.

I start thinking about the comment my husband made. I look at my daughter. Daddy let her hair have a break today. It looks like Tina Turner's. Her skin is darker than mine. It almost looks like a caramel color. She is absolutely gorgeous at 2 and has no idea what awaits her. My son is about my color, just a shade darker. He has short brown hair that tries to curl if you let it grow out too long. My husband is African American and I am Caucasian. My children are biracial, mulatto, or what ever you want to call them. I just call them, "my children."

I know as they get older, I will have to inform them that the world is not always so nice. I continue to lay there and watch them play, wishing I could freeze this moment (not the strep though). One day I will explain to them that, "yes, their mommy and Daddy are different colors, but that doesn't matter. We love each other just like we love them." I will have to spend time discussing both sides of their culture and preparing them for whatever is thrown their way: racism, indifference, discrimination. I will try to make them strong and independent and explain to them that although they have two races in their hearts and body, the world will only see one, African American. They will face many challenges. It won't be because they aren't smart, or good looking; it will be because they are in a world that just hasn't accepted them yet for who they are.

But for now, I just lay here and watch them. We have a few years left until we have to start explaining "life." My son hugs me and says that he is sorry that I don't feel good. Then he runs off to watch basketball with Daddy. My daughter smiles at me and whispers that she wants some candy. I laugh. Once again, I put those thoughts out of my head. I ask my husband if he can get the kids a piece of candy and they start cheering. I roll over on the couch to sleep away the pain. I hear my daughter's laughter as I drift off, with a smile on my face.