I’ve been told that I write and talk about race because I think it’s “cool.” Some have said that I’m trying to fit in with the “woke” or...

I have a secret I don’t feel proud of. Photo by krakenimages on Unsplash Sometimes I catch myself hoping my biracial children don’t end up partnering with white people (if they choose to partner at all). Or, if they do, that they don’t build lives in mostly white spaces surrounded by mostly white people. Even writing that makes something in me tighten. I’m white. I don’t hate white people. I don’t hate myself. And not long ago, I wrote about how I can’t give up on white peopl

I want to say this as plainly and gently as I can: I’m not interested in calling you a racist. Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash Not because racism isn’t real. It is. Not because harm isn’t happening. It is. But because the moment the conversation turns into— “Are you calling me a racist?” —it almost always pulls us away from the deeper, more important conversation. And that deeper conversation is the one I really care about. I care about us. I care about whether we can stay

Well… not 100% colonizer but close enough. And, I can’t give up on white people. There’s a simple reason, really. I’m white. Also, I know...

My black husband shared this sentiment as we talked about George Floyd’s murder. It’s a response he’s come to know well. We know the...

It’s me. I’m that friend. I wish I had video of the experience. Maybe I could replay it and get a better understanding of who I was in...

It seems it was a short time ago that my son was an infant — soft and small — his tiny body easily cradled in my arms. Just last week he...

I remember standing in a crowded room, part of a mixed-race group, waiting for a guest speaker. The white person next to me asked if I knew who the speaker was. I pointed and said, “The tall white guy by the planter.” Then came a question I hear more often than I’d like: “Why do you make everything about race?” Photo by bridget bartos on Unsplash For a moment, I froze. What? Was that a joke? Their expression made it clear — it wasn’t. In that moment, I realized something: thi

Now, please trust that I’m doing my best. Please also recognize that doing my best at teaching my children about race and racism, looks different from your best. Image of the author’s 3 curly haired, biracial children looking at the moon illuminating the ocean. First, my kids are biracial — and whiteness does not count them as white. This makes our worries, conversations, intentions and goals unlike yours. This isn’t because I think you’re racist. Rather, it’s because we live