“That’s your real Dad?!”

“Are you adopted?”

“He is so cute! How long have you looked after him?

“He’s yours?!”

I am accustomed to judgement.

I am accustomed to assumptions.

I am accustomed to having to justify my existence.

Growing up, so few believed my white, Jewish-American father was mine.

As a mother, so few believe my light-skinned, blue/green-eyed son is my own.

So many see our difference in skin tone and immediately discard the possibility that we could belong to each other.

So many see our difference in skin tone and decide that they know who we are.

So many judge the roles we play in each other’s lives, the languages we must speak, the people with whom we must feel a connection.

There are white people.

And then there’s everyone else.

We defy that narrative.

We refuse to allow that narrative to define who we are.

We refuse to allow that narrative to dictate how we behave.

We are multiethnic.

We are bilingual.

We are family.

So many look at us and judge.

But their judgement is a verdict of who they are.

Their judgement is not a verdict of us.

By Naomi Raquel Enright

From: United States

Website: https://medium.com/@naomi_39481