Doc

I will never be able to say I have experienced racism directed towards me. I am pale as copy paper and naturally blonde. But I have had the unique experience of being in a mixed-race family, providing me with experiences/perspective not everyone who looks like me has.

When I was 8, my mom introduced me and my two older brothers to a guy she had been dating and was now in a relationship with. They had met at work (they worked at a high school at the time; my mom being an English teacher and him being a principal). His name was Bret, but they decided us kids should call him Doc because that’s what the kids at the high school called him (he had a Ph. D). He was smart, goofy, and loving. He was also black.

Obviously, this was not a problem for us. Even though our extended family was quietly racist, my mom had raised us differently and exposed us to different types of people and places even at a young age. Plus, we were living in Austin, TX at the time, which is very diverse anyway. The only reason his race was relevant is that it affected how other people looked at our group.

As we got closer as a family unit and moved in together, the more I witnessed firsthand casual racism/microaggressions that had never happened when we were a more homogeneous group. Going out to eat or to the grocery store opened us up to public opinion about our union.

If someone was troubled by seeing us together, there were many ways they might express it. It could just be a hard or disdainful glance towards us; or it could be standing uncomfortably close, caressing an open-carry on their belt and sporting a confederate flag on their clothing, smiling evilly at Doc, threatening what we all fear someone would do to him one day.

It could even be a police officer stopping us at midnight on the way home from visiting family for going 5 miles over and waving a gun in his face, shouting profanities while us kids are in the back.

As time went on, Doc earned his spot as my dad more and more. He valued me as a daughter, he did everything he could to provide for me, and he was a role model for how a man should be in life. Even if there is no blood relation or if there is a racial difference, he is my dad. But there is a lot of people who can’t see past skin to respect that about us.

I recall one incident when I was about 10, Doc and I went to the grocery store. I can still feel the Texas summer heat, the intense yellow brightness from the sun illuminating every shadow. We were melting and picking up popsicles and ingredients for dinner.

Within the past year, there had been a popular news story in Texas about a music teacher kidnapping students during a field trip. It was one of those stories that put middle-class people on high alert, even though statistically there’s no real threat to them.

Doc had noticed a particular woman (who was white) had been tracking us throughout the store. She had a suspicious look on her face and while she was shopping as well, it seemed like she couldn’t stay away from us. Finally, she caught me a couple of feet away from him, checking out a toy.

“Do you want to be with him?” she asked me. Her concern was real. It was almost like she was playing the part of an undercover special victims unit detective.

As a 10-year-old kid shopping with her stepdad for the thousandth time, I truly didn’t understand what she meant by that question.

“Uhh… yeah?” I answered, projecting suspicion back to her.

“Are you sure? Do you know him? You’re supposed to be here with him?” She pressed, feeling like she was really looking out for me.

“Yeah, he’s my stepdad,” I said with a bit of sass because she was annoying me and confusing me with these strange/vague questions. Finally, Doc walked back towards us after hearing this exchange.

“Hi, how you doing?” He greeted her politely but tense, as he knew he couldn’t make a scene about this. She sort of nodded and walked away, and we continued our shop. The ending of that story may seem anti-climactic, but the truth is that minorities have to face everyday racism with a smile on their face and move on as if nothing happened.

You could say someone could be worried about me simply because I am with someone who is clearly not my biological father, therefore he could be a stranger kidnapping me. But the reality is that it was much more likely that my white biological father would’ve kidnapped me, but nobody would blink an eye seeing us together. Because of racism, white people subconsciously view Doc as more threatening and more likely to be up to no good.

A lot of awkward situations my family goes through are cringe-worthy but harmless, like when a host at a restaurant doesn’t even consider the possibility of Doc being in our group, even when he’s standing right with us. But there are moments that are genuinely scary and blatantly racist, even if some people can’t see why. The fact of the matter is that the world is a different place when I am with Doc versus when I am only with white people from my family. That’s enough proof for me that racism is still alive and well.