Mixed Boxes

By Lana LosAngeles:

I grew up
Standardized test taking
Filling boxes on scantrons 
That supposedly matched my description 
So you can imagine my confusion 
When the directions read
‘Select One’
Stunned
Nervous and fidgeting
Elementary school desk sitting
Olive complexioned
Wild hair wind whipped uncontrollably 
One of the many faces of duality
Mixed ethnicity 
A look of racial ambiguity

I
Am the second daughter of interracial relations
And my parents are still married
Diversity is my reality
I see it seated at the dinner table with me
And we
Have never shied away from the topic of conversation 
So excuse my frustration 
When my parents sacrifice for better education 
All boiled down to Which parent got my selection

I
Have always been mixed and proud
And I wasn’t the only mixed kid in the crowd
So I wondered
How did they make their mark
I remember
Coming in from playing with my friend
Also mixed
Matter of fact
We looked like twins
And her mom posed the question
“How do you identify?”
And
She
Said
Black

And just like that
I watched as her mother’s white shame graced her face
As if in that one instant
Her parenting had somehow been erased
What a shame
That we feel like we don’t have the right to go both ways
And our systematic education perpetuates that phase
Diversity
Is America’s common ground
I know
Because that’s how I came around
So astounded I’m standing
When our institutions are demanding
That I deny half my parenting
To you can see clearly
Which box got my mark
‘Any extra excess or outside marks may disrupt the results of this exam’
And just like that I hear the man
Further try to silence
Slicing at the tongues of my ancestors 
But my parents
And their parents
And the parents of their parents parents
They all deserve to be acknowledged 
They farmed and fed
Sewed and swept
Broken French
And country dialect
They are all pieces of me
And I represent them equally

We
Are not meant to fit into prism prisons
This land 
Did not thrive on borders and distinctions
And I refuse
To lose
My lineage
Based on line items on a scantron
My family
Was military men and midwives
Builders
Teachers
Nurturers 
And survivors
And they deserve better
Than to be pressed into some box
It’s not that simple
Our people 
Are not that simple
We were not conceived 
With the idea in mind of what standardized test box we would fit in to

We
Are kaleidoscope vision
Our image changes depending on the way that you twist it
Being mixed and diverse 
Is how we fit in
To a country that is supposed to be welcoming and free
I remember 
Learning of segregation and slavery
And I asked my teacher
“What would happen to people who look like me?”
“You would not exist”
Was her reply
And I watched 
As the laugh lines 
That graced the face 
Of my classmates
Trace
My bloodlines
Down to dust
The class moved on
But I fell into a silent hush
Clutching to my identity
As if it could be
So easily stripped from me
Dismissed
And tossed out quick
Like the discarded sections
Of the Sunday paper
That my interracial parents
Perused
Over their morning coffee
The class had lost me
In a feeling
More isolating 
Than I have been accustomed to
Our identities are not exclusive 
They are melting pot mixed in
They should be praised
Celebrated
And paraded in the streets

They
Are Marci Gras
And Gumbo pots
And 1200 acre farms
And the best damn corn on the cob
And those acres
Cannot fit inside your box

We
Have all come here by way of immigrants travels
And those travels
Surpass borders and boxes
They cannot be isolated and locked in
Your scantron does not define them
I cannot be lined in
My parents will not be eraser marked out
And so I stand here
Still olive complexioned
Still with wild hair wind whipped uncontrollably 
Refusing to be boxed in
Refusing to leave my identity out
Refusing to be isolated
Locked up
And tied down
I
Am mixed
And proud
And there is no box for me here