That Awkward Question

“SO WHAT ARE you exactly?”

I’m asked that often. When people see my dark-black and curly hair, my somewhat “almond-shaped” eyes, my pale skin with a yellow undertone— and yet freckles—they wonder. They can’t place my ethnicity in a box, so they feel unsettled, maybe even threatened.

Depending on my mood, I choose one of a few answers. If I’m feeling sarcastic: “I’m human, thanks. And you?” Or if I’m feeling cryptic: “ Exotic, obviously.” If I’m feeling sarcastic and preachy: “Me? I’m part of the Colossians 3:12 ‘Beloved Community,’ part of God’s people that he loves from the center of his being.”

I’ve also learned to play dumb, answering with my own question: “Oh, how do you mean? Are you asking about my Myers-Briggs personality profile or maybe my Enneagram?” Obviously, they aren’t. But hoping they’ll actually hear themselves, I like to make people say it: “No, what ethnicity are you? Where are you from? Why do you look so different?”

What ethnicity am I, indeed.

If I’m feeling patient, loving, and strong enough, I invite folks to hear my story. They’d better get comfortable, because it takes a while. When the Holy Spirit leads me in being gracious, I answer that awkward question by sharing about my Thai national birthfather and my European American mom. Then I share about my African American dad, who married my mom and adopted me when I was five. I talk about being a proud New Mexican—born and raised. I share about my first trip to Thailand, in my early thirties, to see my paternal birth family. I mention my multiethnic church family in Mississippi, the heart of the Deep South.