Love Over Blood

Written by Tyette Manna

I wholeheartedly believe that one specific event altered my brain chemistry and entire sense of being.

When working at a Christmas store, a white woman attempted to report me - the only visible Black employee - to the owner of the business after a verbal dispute. She complained about the price spike in year-round Christmas ornaments, something I did not have control over. I abided by her wishes and called the owner, who just happened to be my big brother, yet the woman was unaware of that. The two dollar and ninety-eight cent increase caused me to be verbally accosted with all sorts of racist and undesirable language after I had already started the process of checking out her items.  The fact that the owner was my big brother, in all shapes and forms except for the difference in the color of our skin - his being a light sun-kissed color whereas mine resembles warm hazelnut - did not allow the white woman to fathom our relationship. She proceeded to deny the possibility that we could ever be related and accused me of being a liar. 

I was heartbroken.

Growing up, I never considered the color of my skin to be anything other than the color that it was: brown. As a transracial adoptee, my cocoa brown skin was often confused when seen alongside my Caucasian fair-skinned parents and family. As a child I was never able to understand where the confusion may lie. Despite the difference in skin tone, my family functions the same way any other family does, with a lot of love and a whole lot more chaos. I was not made aware of the ignorance and not-so-subtle cruelty and racism of those surrounding me, having only known how to love, be kind, be accepting of others, and treat others the way you want to be treated. 

It is frustrating having to face how simple-minded and unwilling to change some people can be. As a young child, and now as a young adult, often needing to ward off what I would consider absurd questions such as, “Who do you belong to?” or “Where do you come from?” is traumatic and  plain exhausting. Unfortunately, many people have asked an abundance of those questions and it does not bother me anymore, because I now know that I am not responsible for the version of myself that exists inside the minds of others.  

I did not want the white woman to believe she held any sort of power or dominion over me, and decided that the store did not need that business - her business. I carefully  and thoughtfully expressed to the woman that I was in fact his sister, perhaps not by blood, but by love, which is just as strong, if not stronger than blood.

It deeply hurt me to experience in real time not only the audacity of this woman, but the
arrogance, vulgarity, and overall blatant racism that was being thrown  at me for only  doing my job. I  remember feeling so defeated and infuriated. I even felt a little bit sad for the woman, and how she was unable to see past her own extremely racist and bigoted ideologies,  unable to accept or promote change or growth. That is a very depressing way to spend a life.