INTERRACIAL VOICE

Essay

The Perfect Blend
By Kim Jenkins

One day recently, I was home recovering from the flu. It was a cold and wet winter day, and it felt good to be home. I sat on the couch in front of a blazing fire, cuddling my 18-month-old daughter.

The doorbell rang, and with my daughter comfortably resting on my left hip, I opened the door to a young black woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She was a pretty thing; short, curly, chestnut brown hair with cinnamon-colored skin. She was selling window cleaner, in the rain no less, and I was not in good spirits considering my current illness. She gave me her whole song and dance on the benefits of this fantastic and amazing window cleaner. I was bored and cold and becoming impatient. Trying not to sound rude, I gently told her that I was feeling under the weather, and that a window cleaner, however fantastic it might be, was the last thing I wanted to talk about. She apologized, I told her it was okay.

I expected her to leave, but instead, she asked if she could ask me a personal question. I was curious, so I said yes, of course she could ask me her question. She looked at the toddler resting on my hip, and asked if I had trouble "getting her." She explained that she was newly pregnant, and would be putting her baby up for adoption after he or she was born. She was very concerned about a couple not wanting her baby, explaining that blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies are the object of desire for adopting couples today.

What made her think my child was adopted? Perhaps it is the difference in the color of our skin. While I am as white as a bag of cotton balls, my child is not. She is the beautiful mixture of the love between a black man and a white woman. And that makes her sort of...mocha. A smooth, creamy, deliciously different color than both my husband and myself.

I laughed and explained that my daughter is mine in every respect of the word. I created her. I carried her. I gave birth to her. The young woman was very embarrassed and afraid that she had offended me, although she had not. She did, however, open my eyes to the fact that my daughter and I are noticeably different in color. While I had certainly been aware of it before, it suddenly became quite clear to me that this is how the rest of the world must view us. For a moment I was saddened by this revelation. I was sad that possibly the first thing people notice is that my daughter's skin is darker than mine.

Now I wonder what people see when they look at her. I wonder if they see the sparkle in her eyes when she is happy. I wonder if they hear the simple joy in her laughter when her daddy tickles her. I wonder if they know the how her hugs and kisses fill my soul with an unexplainable feeling of happiness. Or do they only see that she is not like me?

I know it does not matter what the rest of the world thinks. In my eyes, she is the most beautiful creature God ever blessed this earth with. Every day she brings new joy and meaning to our lives, and I wonder what life was like before she came along and enhanced it. I do not look at my child and see her color. I see the funny faces she makes when something tastes funny. I see the crinkling up of her nose when she is being feisty. I see the tears when she falls and scratches her knee. I see her naked bottom running away from me after I've taken her from the tub, as she laughs and giggles at the amusement of it all. I only see what all mothers see in their children -- love, hope and a feeling of fulfillment that goes beyond words.

This world is far from perfect, and there is often a definite dividing line between races. But our children are the hope of the future. The hope that someday the color of our skin will not determine the nature of our makeup or our abilities or our dreams. My child, with her soft curly brown hair, warm brown skin and sparkling eyes that flash at you when she is guilty of something, is a combination of two different, yet very similar worlds. She is not one or the other. She is a celebration of black and white. And I hope the world will one day recognize and embrace all that she has to offer.