Its one of those 'I need to write this down, thank you for reading, please don't feel the need to reply' posts.
My adoption papers stated that it would be difficult placing a half-caste child.
This was in the 1970s. I was adopted by a white couple & brought up in a white community.
I have a clear memory of standing in a clothes shop with my mum, I was about 4 years old, looking at the posters on the wall of the models. I thought if I was white I would be beautiful like those models.
I was ugly, dirty, stupid, I was told to 'go back to your own country, paki', I was called the 'N' word, wog, monkey, chocolate face ... by adults.
There was the time when I was cornered in the playground by one of the big boys, he was shouting racist abuse, I was terrified & couldn't move. Then I saw the dinner lady - she had come to my rescue, I thought she was kind & nice, maybe one day I would get to walk around the playground holding her hand like the other girls did. She just stood there, watching, then shouted at me for messing about.
Because I'm black, I am grateful to people who want to befriend me.
Sometimes I am wary of people, racism gives off a certain vibe, even without words. Or maybe it's that 'chip on my shoulder' that I was born with.
I have brought up my children to be proud of who they are, proud of their colour. Racism is due to ignorance. One of my sons has been beaten up 3 times, I feel guilty - my children are black because I am.
I can talk the talk - I'm a strong black woman, I'm black & I'm proud.
My first husband was abusive towards me, but not racist, so I was thankful for that. My current husband is also abusive & once again, it seems acceptable because his abuse isn't racist. I'm just relieved that he doesn't call me the 'N' word.
I'm 40 years old now but sometimes I'm still that 4 year old in the shop. I look a lot younger than 40, of course, because I'm Black.