I am biracial. I have never made any bones about this fact, because I’m proud of it. My father is a Puerto-Rican Latino and my mother is white, of Dutch and Czech descent. I’m biracial, and I’m happy about it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I also have an interest in history. This may be because my mother taught me to read pretty early on and homeschooled me from there. I grew up reading a lot, and a lot of the reading material provided to me was history or historical fiction. Not all of it was age-appropriate. But most of it appealed to me enough to foster an interest in stories of the historical persuasion.
I remember the first time I realized just how ahistorical my family is.
I was watching North and South with my mother and sister. For anyone who hasn’t read or seen North and South, it’s a romance set during the Industrial Revolution in England. There’s a plot point toward the middle of the story involving the main character’s brother, who fled to Spain to escape an unjust mutiny charge. The brother ends up marrying a Spanish woman.
So I’m watching this movie-mini-series with my mother and sister, right? And when this part comes up, my mom remarks, sort of off-handedly, “That’s the only way people from different countries really met back then. That’s how me and your dad would have met.”
I had never considered this before. For the first time I was confronted by the fact that in another century, my parents would likely never have met. I would not have been born to my parents in any other century, barring a few unlikely turns of events.
This was the first time I thought about this, but it would not be the last. My father has an interest in the origin of names. It turns out “Gonzalez” roughly translated means “son of a battle elf”, which is massively cool. It also turns out that it is completely legal to buy and ship an old-style forged sword. And it turns out that the family name and family legacy (and the cool sword that my family now owns) historically are passed down to the oldest son (my younger brother), not the oldest child (me).
It’s very cool and fun, if a tad bit frustrating, to have this family name and family sword and family legacy that gets passed down. But then again, historically, would my parents have had the opportunity to meet in Middle Ages Europe, where all this comes from? Would my siblings and I have existed in that time?
Fast forward. I’m out at a restaurant with my family, and we’re discussing media representation. My sister is saying that things are better than they ever were, that there are more women and people of color producing things now than there ever have been. I reply that yeah, things are better, but white people and white men especially still dominate the industry.
“Wow, I’m so glad you were born now and not in the 1920’s,” my mom says.
“Would I have been born in the 20’s? Would you guys have even met?” I gesture to my parents.
That’s the final word of that conversation.
This isn’t something that bothers me all the time. I read about history quite often and it’s fun and informative and I like doing it. I like reading about the early history of America, or the life and times of Shakespeare, or the many dynasties of ancient China. But whenever I begin to insert myself into those stories—whenever I think, Wow, what must have it been like to live then?—the knowledge is always present: I couldn’t have been there.
It’s fun to think about being alive during the American Revolution, but it’s not fun to know that I and my siblings would not have been safe or accepted then, assuming we were born at all. Incidentally, this has also affected my love of the time travel sub-genre. Yeah, I would love to travel back to 1885, except no I wouldn’t, because no matter how white-passing I am I know I would never feel safe. I would constantly be looking back over my shoulder because heck, do you know how long interracial marriages were illegal in the United States?
I love history. I know how important it is to study history, and more often than not I love doing it, because history contains a wealth of instructive, inspiring, hilarious, exciting and downright bizarre stories. But I don’t idealize or romanticize history. A great deal of history is sad and cruel and ugly. A lot of American history is off-putting and unwelcoming for women and people of color. I know you sometimes have to take the bad with the good, and I still see myself as an American despite all of this. But I refuse to look at history with rose-colored glasses. I don’t want to “take America back” or “make America great again” or any other variation of that sentiment, because nearly every other period of American history would have been unsafe, if not downright hostile, for my family. America has always been flawed. I want to keep moving forward, because an interracial family like mine couldn’t really have existed in any other century. I don’t want to go back to that! I want to learn as much as I can from history and, God willing, create a better world for my children and nieces and nephews.
I also have an interest in history. This may be because my mother taught me to read pretty early on and homeschooled me from there. I grew up reading a lot, and a lot of the reading material provided to me was history or historical fiction. Not all of it was age-appropriate. But most of it appealed to me enough to foster an interest in stories of the historical persuasion.
I remember the first time I realized just how ahistorical my family is.
I was watching North and South with my mother and sister. For anyone who hasn’t read or seen North and South, it’s a romance set during the Industrial Revolution in England. There’s a plot point toward the middle of the story involving the main character’s brother, who fled to Spain to escape an unjust mutiny charge. The brother ends up marrying a Spanish woman.
So I’m watching this movie-mini-series with my mother and sister, right? And when this part comes up, my mom remarks, sort of off-handedly, “That’s the only way people from different countries really met back then. That’s how me and your dad would have met.”
I had never considered this before. For the first time I was confronted by the fact that in another century, my parents would likely never have met. I would not have been born to my parents in any other century, barring a few unlikely turns of events.
This was the first time I thought about this, but it would not be the last. My father has an interest in the origin of names. It turns out “Gonzalez” roughly translated means “son of a battle elf”, which is massively cool. It also turns out that it is completely legal to buy and ship an old-style forged sword. And it turns out that the family name and family legacy (and the cool sword that my family now owns) historically are passed down to the oldest son (my younger brother), not the oldest child (me).
It’s very cool and fun, if a tad bit frustrating, to have this family name and family sword and family legacy that gets passed down. But then again, historically, would my parents have had the opportunity to meet in Middle Ages Europe, where all this comes from? Would my siblings and I have existed in that time?
Fast forward. I’m out at a restaurant with my family, and we’re discussing media representation. My sister is saying that things are better than they ever were, that there are more women and people of color producing things now than there ever have been. I reply that yeah, things are better, but white people and white men especially still dominate the industry.
“Wow, I’m so glad you were born now and not in the 1920’s,” my mom says.
“Would I have been born in the 20’s? Would you guys have even met?” I gesture to my parents.
That’s the final word of that conversation.
This isn’t something that bothers me all the time. I read about history quite often and it’s fun and informative and I like doing it. I like reading about the early history of America, or the life and times of Shakespeare, or the many dynasties of ancient China. But whenever I begin to insert myself into those stories—whenever I think, Wow, what must have it been like to live then?—the knowledge is always present: I couldn’t have been there.
It’s fun to think about being alive during the American Revolution, but it’s not fun to know that I and my siblings would not have been safe or accepted then, assuming we were born at all. Incidentally, this has also affected my love of the time travel sub-genre. Yeah, I would love to travel back to 1885, except no I wouldn’t, because no matter how white-passing I am I know I would never feel safe. I would constantly be looking back over my shoulder because heck, do you know how long interracial marriages were illegal in the United States?
I love history. I know how important it is to study history, and more often than not I love doing it, because history contains a wealth of instructive, inspiring, hilarious, exciting and downright bizarre stories. But I don’t idealize or romanticize history. A great deal of history is sad and cruel and ugly. A lot of American history is off-putting and unwelcoming for women and people of color. I know you sometimes have to take the bad with the good, and I still see myself as an American despite all of this. But I refuse to look at history with rose-colored glasses. I don’t want to “take America back” or “make America great again” or any other variation of that sentiment, because nearly every other period of American history would have been unsafe, if not downright hostile, for my family. America has always been flawed. I want to keep moving forward, because an interracial family like mine couldn’t really have existed in any other century. I don’t want to go back to that! I want to learn as much as I can from history and, God willing, create a better world for my children and nieces and nephews.
This is a good post.
ReplyDeleteAnd, it reminds me: have you seen the 2014 movie, "Belle"? It stars Gugu Mbatha-Raw and I think you would like it.
Thank you!
ReplyDeleteI haven't seen Belle, but I would like to. It seems like it brings up some points similar to the ones I talked about here.