Why am I Black? As a light-skinned bi-racial person, I am asked fairly regularly about why I identify as Black.
Sometimes. Sometimes is why. Sometimes is better than never. It all comes down to the question, frankly.
For the Black people who care if I'm Black, sometimes I'm Black enough. There's enough melanin. My nose is broad enough. My lips large enough. My hair, what's left of it, has enough curl. And sometimes is good. I don't need or want more. I'm not trying to compare or take anyone's space. Not trying to speak over anyone's voice. Just to be in the chorus.
For the White people who care if I'm White, though... Never am I white. I'm mixed. I'm mulatto. I'm halfrican. I'm a mutt. I often get "you're not Black", but *never* do I hear "you're White". My eyes are never green enough. My hair never loose enough. My clear western standard accent from being raised in a White household in one of the Whitest places in the country is never quite enough to make up for the fact that I was so gauche as to be born a bit browner.
So there it is. Sometimes is better than never.
