This sonnet more or less summarizes my memories and feelings of growing up in the South in America as a half-white, half-Vietnamese boy raised by an African-American, soldier step-father and a Vietnamese mother during the 1970's era after emigrating from South Vietnam as the Vietnam War still raged on.

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During the '70's, deep in the South,

I was white but raised black by a black man.

As a boy, I have watched the Ku Klux Klan

on the news—and was frightened as a youth

who was “black.” In those times, it was uncouth

and a mark of disgrace to be less than

the child of a white mother and white man:

even back then I felt that racist truth.

Two-score years have passed and I’m still confused,

troubled, and unclear as to what or how

I should be: am I white—or “black” (abused

by my black "dad," I relate to him now—.)?

It’s joyless being me—unhinged like this:

but feeling more black, I hate prejudice.

By Ngoc Nguyen

From: United States