Back In 1959 - Mixed Blooded-Ness

Back in 1959, when I first arrived to this country, The United States of America. I was but a thin sack of skin and bones. The doctors were abusive and would flog me across my junk in the trunk. It was a violent introduction, but I was here and was not considering a return from whence I came. Too many legal issues and many many problems would have arisen should I had petitioned such a venture..

America, honest to God, our country was a different America. It sucked something awful if you were not white. Or white like. Mixed Breeds, like me, I speculate always got the shitty end of the stick. I mean, look at this like this - my hair's too kinky and beautifully naturally curly to immense Afro machine making proportions to be a white boy. My light, bright olive skin too white to be black and my Abuelo and Abuela's would speak to me in Spanish and I would respond in English - never having the language of my father's people and them before my Abuela Mary, who is 93 years of age. Because of the loss of my second language I became too white to be Latin/Hispanic...

...my Grandmother Flossie, my Mom's Mom was Cherokee from the South Eastern Peoples and was dark complected. My Mom's Mom married a White man by the name of Roy, my Grandpa Roy. I saw, heard and listened to hatred come from my Grandpa's mouth. There have been family tall tree's forever and one of the tallest is that Grandpa was once associated with a horrific white supremacy organization that covered their faces with white linen. Grandpa never told me this - my Mom did and Grandpa sure did use the ugly term nigger a lot too.

Seem like Grandpa's Whiteness was powerful in the DNA. Could not void the kink and curl in my hair, but the complexion is approaching transparent. My hair all but gone except for around the skull and not covering me like my curls did so well. The Whiteness voided the olive complexion of those who were or are the Hispanic Kinfolk. From whence also came them with dark complexion, Moor's of Northern Africa, and the loss of complexion due to the introduction of the Whiteness onto my skin. Grandpa ensured Grandma Flossie assimilated quite well. Then she died, so I never had the opportunity to meet my Cherokee Grandmother and our Kinfolk from her side of the family.

This is unfortunate really. But imagine having the blood of an African. A Spaniard. A Native Indian Cherokee and folks so white and back country, we were refereed to as hillbilly's.

I get a kick out of my Mixed Blooded-ness. There are times when there are fights within my own skin between the races or the people's. They make me happy too because this Mixed Blooded-ness created a Chameleon that can blend into many an environment. Yes. my Mixed Blood is a Gift. Finally after a life time I am getting to a point where I am able to feel comfortable about it.