On the way home from picking up B from preschool, I decided to make a quick stop at the auto supply store to get a long handled brush to wash my car with, and also a drying cloth for the windows. Easy breezy.
The young girl working the check-out counter kept staring at B. Finally, she asked me, �Is she mixed?� I said, �What?� Again she asked me, �Is she mixed?� She went on to explain that she, herself, was part Asian, and that B looks exactly like she did when she was B�s age.
I wasn�t offended, or anything like that. I think I was a little startled by the question, but I thought about it for a moment. To me, B�s white. It has never occurred to me that to someone else�s eyes, she might be more than that. But I guess, when she and I are standing side by side, our differences are pretty obvious. B has lovely golden skin year round, which tans very easily, and very large, round, chocolate colored eyes. I am pale by comparison, and my eyes are light � a greenish hazel color. B�s hair is light brown, as is mine, but that�s all we share, except for some of our facial features and expressions.
I said, well, her great-grandfather was from Beliz, so that would make her father a quarter Hispanic. So yeah, I guess she is, sort of, mixed.
But aren�t we all?
Fortunately for B, she got her father�s skin tone. It really is quite lovely.
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