What's my real story?

I just finished reading One Drop: My Father’s Hidden Life--- A Story of Race and Family Secrets, a memoir by Bliss Broyard. One Drop details Bliss’ search for self after learning her father, Anatole Broyard, who lived all of his adult life as a White man, is indeed Black. Bliss and her brother, Todd, are told this family secret only days before their father’s impending death.

I first learned of One Drop while reading a review on My American Melting Pot. It peaked my interest because of the history of passablanc (passing for White) in my own family. Both sides of my mother’s family are extremely light and on my mother’s maternal side, my mom has a first cousin who simply walked off one day and never looked back. Within our family lore, it’s pretty much common knowledge he went on and lived his life as a White man, with a White wife, and with seemingly White children.

I remember family stories my grandmother told me of how she and her four sisters would pass for White now and then as they were growing up. It all seemed impossible to me, because most Black folks can spot their own, no matter how fair, with straight hair, they may be. I used to ask my grandmother about her grandmother, but she explained that she didn’t know her grandmother because her mother married a dark skin man (my great-grandfather), and my great-great grandmother didn’t approve. She didn’t want anybody darkening up the family.

When I was younger, I found these stories amusing and these assumptions of “if you’re White, you’re alright, but if you’re Black, step back,” outdated. As a small child, I remember my Aunt Pam bopping to James Brown’s anthem, “Say it loud, I’m Black and I’m proud,” but as I got older, I realized that I, too, needed to come to terms with my own color struck issues.

Away at college, I became acutely aware of the intra-racial assumptions Black folks make solely due to the color of one’s skin and the texture of hair. I remember a heated exchange with another girl, who told me; I thought I was cute because I had light skin and green eyes. At the time, this was all news to me because as light as my mom’s family is, but dad’s crew has a lot of deep mocha brown throughout and in my immediate family it just wasn’t an issue, but, if you had “good” or "nappy" hair, now that was an issue, and I was one nappy-headed chile.

During my sophomore year, I read Toni Morrison’s Tar Baby and The Bluest Eye and thus began my uninformed attempts to level my privileged light-skinned playing field. These efforts included cutting the perm out of my hair and letting my natural nap to take hold of my head; dismissing light-skin brothers for no reason, other than the color of their skin; and adopting an Afro-centric veneer. To this day, when it comes to re-upping on my make-up, I gravitate to the very berry or chocolate drop lip colors, all of which are way too dark for my skin tone. Thank God for good, honest girlfriends, they let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I can’t rock these darker shades.

I readily admit part of my attraction to Loverman is his undeniable African features, his full lips and darker hue. I’ve always wanted Black babies and one of my most potent memories is minutes after laboring Olivia into the world, my mother commented that Olivia had absolutely no color and she looked directly at Loverman and in her sassy fashion taunted, “Well son, what do we need you for, if you’re not going to add a bit of color to the line?”

Earlier today, when I discussing One Drop with my mom, she admitted to understanding why Anatole Broyard did what he did. I cautioned mom to remember that all of our lives we’ve benefited from our light skin status, by being identified as “a little bit better,” because we’re not dark skinned. For me, I’ve often joked the sins of my grandfathers are written all over my face--- meaning my lighter skin, light eyes, are a result of White misogynist domination of my female ancestors, but I don’t know if this is really the truth or not. It’s simply romanticized reasoning I’ve made up. For me, I think I’m at a juncture where it’s time to find my truth, so I can pass concrete facts onto my babies and finally put the speculations to rest.