Image of DNA“You don’t look biracial,” he says, certain. We’ve just met.

When my Japanese mother says “American,” she means white. Success meant assimilation.

“Your freckles come from your mom’s side?” The usual disbelief. Can a face look like two histories intertwined?

Kids pulled at the corners of their eyes to taunt me. Salespeople in Tokyo respond to my fluent Japanese with broken English.

No one questions my husband’s identity. Dutch father, American mother, he is tall, blonde. He’s also Brazilian, that passport, with its stiff blue cover, bestowed by birth.

My skin, like his, is pale. But freckled. And unabashedly biracial.

Anri Wheeler is a New Yorker, a mother, a runner, and an educator. She is working on a book-length memoir.

Photo Credit: from Mark Warner

3 Responses to “Biracial”

  1. Ervin Bravo says:

    Sounds like a filter through a biracials persons ,mind. what others say versus what they hear.

  2. J says:

    Thank you! I felt a brief sense of that reality

  3. Rob Houlden says:

    Well done! The generated pictures in my mind are repainted with each sentence. Bravo


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