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When asked to check a box for “What is your race?” multi-racial teens often change categories as they transition to young adulthood, according to a study by the National Institute on Aging (NIA) and the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development (NICHD). As they get older, teens tend to diversify their selections or consolidate.

This study’s conclusion: People do not always treat their “race” as a fixed concept. They might change their race association in different circles, so to speak, or depending on how comfortable they feel about their status (e.g. the study suggests that teens who came from a more affluent and less racially diverse background had a lower chance of switching their racial identification over time.).

When I was growing up, I definitely danced in many “race” circles when filling out forms or—more importantly—in claiming a race among my friends. Even though my parents were progressive and openly discussed racism and the need for equality, at the same time they made no big thang about what I might experience as the result of their multi-racial love. When I went out into the world I started to feel the divide inside and out.

Before junior high, I lived in a high-test-score neighborhood where every house seemed to have two stories, two parents, two cars, two TVs (or maybe even the rare computer) and at least two expensive hobbies (skiing, boating, etc.) I lived in my own two-sie world on the edge of that neighborhood—as in a rented two-bedroom duplex with two working people (my mom and teen sister). At this time of life, I identified my dad (not me) as being “Spanish” to some of my upper-crust-ish friends. Spanish sounded exotic. Mexican sounded unwelcome. I think this is when my creative writing career truly began along with my lack of self-acceptance. With my almost Irish looks, who would be the wiser? I also remember around 3rd or 4th grade distinctly looking in the mirror one day, admiring my blonde-streaked hair and feeling like I’d dodged a bullet: I looked white. I’d gotten lucky.
(It's a hard story to tell by so telling about how I was experiencing being multi-racial at the time.)

In 7th grade, we moved when my mom became a proud homeowner. The new neighborhood was more mixed. There were older homes, condos and apartments. My two new bestfriends also had divorced parents. Moms and dads worked and both struggled to make rent. And school looked like some after-school special about the great U.S. melting pot. At this time, I made my first race-claim shift. When I smelled the coast was clear, I proudly claimed that I was Mexican. My last name wasn’t Irish, silly, it was Filipino (and of Spanish origin!). In this neighborhood and throughout high school, being multi-racial gave me street cred. I now actually invited my dad to school events. My mom's background? Well, she was just the French-Irish-Portuguese-1/8 Cherokee chick who was the reason I didn’t have a year-around tan (not fair!). She, I more commonly would say, worked for a computer chip company.

By college, my race ID took one more turn. Now I was seriously bummed that I didn’t speak fluent Spanish. Didn’t my parents know this would have meant more opportunity for me? I could have worked for the New York Times in Guatemala by age 20. Come on, people! College was all about being DIFFERENT. UNIQUE. STANDING OUT. And joining the Viva Latina Club and Portuguese Pride Parade and the Pacific Islanders for Peace. Now I was a fully de-segregated person on the inside, right? I liked it when people actually pronounced my last name correctly (Mah-Cah-Vean-Tah). But then I dug deeper. I started learning about the real struggle for equal rights for all and reading books like My Soul is Rested and Hunger of Memory and taking classes like "Racism, Classism and Misogyny" taught by a self-proclaimed Jewish-Puerto-Rican-Feminist (gotta love San Francisco State!). I felt sad that I'd ever denied myself the pleasure of being myself. It was all coming together. I was coming together.

But don’t get me wrong. Drinking my own ethnic Kool Aid was not about gravitating toward what was fashionable or profitable or what would get me a good grade. It was about what felt safe. It was about looking hard at deeply ingrained hatred that we marinate in whether we know it or not. It was about reading the room and seeing who was getting respect and who was getting the shaft. It was about coming to the realization that all those ancestors who live on in my DNA deserved equal opportunity, care, and respect. And for me, that’s what I’ve been fighting for ever since (and why Fighting for Equality is Respect Basic No. 6).

So it doesn’t surprise me that teens are being shifty when it comes to claiming race. Isn’t that what our world has taught them to do in some cases? From what teens are still going through, it's obvious we aren’t always sending them the message to love the package they came in and that they SO matter like every other person. On the other hand, shouldn’t we perhaps take a cue from multi-racial teens' coming of age journey? Forget watching Survivor to see how a racial divide plays out. Instead, turn your attention to the fight for respect going on all around you. What’s your scorecard say: Is respect winning on the inside and out?

MORE INFO
Want to get the conversation flowing and start spreading respect for all? Check out the Inside the “-isms” on page 9 of RESPECT. Remember, truly respecting yourself means not hiding who you are, and creating change so that no one else has to either (like these teens are doing!). Go here for more social change tools.

Comments (0) | by Courtney on September 19

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