I Am A Minority Part 2 written by anonymous

 Introduction by Riw (the founder of The Guest Writer Blog). Part two of this article has materialized due to several questions the google community had in one of it's forums called The Coffee Shop. I contacted "anonymous" and he agreed to do a follow-up to his original article. This follow-up explains his story in more detail. At first "anonymous" did not want to do this article as he claims not to be a good writer and has troubles putting things down on paper. I assured him I would help him put this together (as I did with his first article). I myself am not a great writer but I'm pretty good at putting words together in a fashion that makes them easy and interesting to read. "Anonymous" sent me a jumble of thoughts, family history and timelines and I assembled them into this article.

Without further ado I present "I Am A Minority Part 2" written by anonymous

When I was a young child I knew I was different, I just never knew how or why. I remember hearing my mom telling my dad that she wasn't ready to talk about it. I knew they were talking about me, I just didn't know what "it" was. I really didn't recognize the fact that I had a different skin color from the rest of my family. I was only seven years old and the topic never did come up in my family. My mom pretty much controlled the family, I guess she was never ready to tell me that I was different. It wasn't until I was nine years old when a friend had asked me if I was adopted. I told him no and asked why he wanted to know. That's when he said that it was because I am white and the rest of my family is black. I was baffled at this. All I could think is, "how can this be?“ I just did not believe it. How could I have not notice this? When I got home I was very quiet that night. My mom asked me if I was feeling okay. She thought I was getting sick. I never did ask her about it. I just didn't feel comfortable bringing up the subject. My mom has never been big on expression. She's a career woman and it seems that her work always took her time and emotions. She's probably only said she loves me about 3 or 4 times in my life. I'm 33 now that's an average of once every ten years. Everytime I've tried to discuss a family issue she would tell  me to work it out myself. 

My dad wasn't any better. He was pretty much my mom's puppet. Whatever mom said dad did. He never followed through on any of his promises. I can remember when we moved into a new house my brother and I worked all day helping him turn the soil in order to able to landscape the yard. It was hard work. Dad promised us that he would take us out for an ice cream sundae for all our hard work. My brother and I worked extra hard in anticipation of that sundae. My brother and I never got that sundae. It still brings a tear to my eyes when I think back on that. 

I went through a period when I wasn't sure if I was adopted or not. I was about twelve years old and very disturbed by this. I even wondered whether or not my dad was really my dad. I had a lot going around in my mind and it was mostly due to the kids in school.  I went on this confusing trip for several weeks before saying anything. Finally, I opened up to my parents and asked if I was adopted. My mom, who was at her desk nudged and said she was busy. In a very nonchalant way my dad answered, "What do you think. If you think you're adopted than maybe you are." After that my mom told me to go play because she had to meet a deadline.

When I was 16, I finally found out the truth to my confusion. It was during the reception at my older sister's wedding. My aunt had been drinking a few vodka tonics and she seemed to be in a more than talkative mood. She confirmed that I am not adopted. Both parents I've grown up with are my biological parents. She told me that my great great great grandfather on my mother's side was white. He was a plantation owner in Missouri. My great great great grandmother was a black slave on the plantation. He used to force my ggg grandmother to have sex with him. My mom always resented my great great great grandfather for this eventhough she never knew him. I suspect since I came out white like him she transferred some of that resentment on to me. She was never affectionate with me yet my brother and sister were her darlings.

It's taken me many years to come to terms with myself. For the longest time I felt that I deserved the racist and racial jokes that would be uttered in my presence. I felt like I was a dirty black man hiding behind a white man's body. I was a coward playing a masquerade.   
                         

At the age of 30 I finally couldn't handle this inner confusion and turmoil any longer. I first went to see a hypnotist, and that helped. Shortly after I began seeing a therapist and started opening up about who I am. I did it baby step by baby step. I started by letting my closest friends about my background. This helped me develop a support system and finally currently at the age of 33, I am proud to be me.