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I can’t wait to read everyone else’s stories! This is one of those WWBC topics I’ve been looking forward to all year long.
My extended family is interracial and multiracial. Various versions of this conversation have happened multiple times over the years, and I hope I always see the amusing side of them.
(Yes, I do share relevant details with medical professionals or friends. I simply choose not to explain the intricacies of my family tree to every nosy stranger in the world).
Them: Who’s that person?
Me: They’re my <cousin, etc.>
Them: But they’re Black! <Cuban, etc.>
Me: They sure are.
Them: Okay, I get it. You’re biracial.
Me: No, I’m Caucasian.
Them: Are you sure about that? I mean, you do have curly hair.
Me: Yes, white people have curly hair, too.
Them: So are they biracial then?
Me: Nope. (Well, not in most cases).
Them: I’m confused. Are they your real <cousin, etc.>?
(repeat ad infinitum).
This happened at the end of an exhausting holiday shift right before Christmas at a retail job I had years ago. Normally, I would have been much more responsive, but my brain was fried from the long hours, rotating shift work that made it impossible to get enough sleep, and frantic workflow for retail workers in the weeks and months leading up to Christmas. This customer had been inspecting our pans for a few minutes before she waved me over.
Customer: Excuse me, do you sell adamantium* pans?
Me: Sorry, we don’t sell them.
Customer: Do you know where I can adamantium pans?
Me: I honestly have no idea!
*That is to say, the fictional metal alloy used to coat Wolverine’s skeleton and claws in Marvel comic books. (And I still have no idea what she meant or why anyone would want to make baking pans from that material if it really existed).
The most recent story of them all. A few years ago, I noticed a weird-looking mole slowly growing bigger on my body and decided to ask my dermatologist to take a look at it.
The dermatologist asked me a few questions about the history of the mole and then brought out some specialized tools to peer more closely at it.
He was silent for a moment and then exclaimed, “your mole is bland!” It looked a little odd, but it wasn’t cancerous like I’d feared it might be.
I still chuckle at this memory ever so often. My name is Lydia, bearer of bland moles. Ha!