I’m Black But Look White. Here’s What My Life Is Like.

I was outside my house gardening a few weekends ago when a neighbor, whom I had known for almost 30 years, stopped by so I could pet his large, fluffy dogs. I took my gloves off, squatted down to give the dogs a really good scratching around their ears and felt the sun on my back. What could be better? And then my neighbor said: “Why do you have a ‘Black Lives Matter’ sign on your front lawn when all those people do is kill each other?”

My lovely day screeched to a halt.

“You know I’m Black, right?” I said, standing up as tall as my 5’4” frame would allow, the sun shining on my blond hair. I continued to pet his dogs, because I needed the comfort of petting dogs at that moment, and because I needed to keep my hands busy so they didn’t slap that man’s face.

After the usual back and forth of him saying “No!” and me saying “Yes!” and then him trying to gauge exactly “how Black I was” by asking which of my parents was Black and me replying “Both,” we had a very uncomfortable conversation about racism.

I told him about my father’s struggles to get an education because guidance counselors and admissions agents would not accept Black people into community colleges or SUNY programs in the 1950s and ’60s. I told him that even though my father was a veteran, he could not be approved to use the GI Bill for college or buy a house, since no one would process his paperwork because he was a Black man. I told him that people painted “Go Home Nigger” on the back of our home when my parents finally saved enough money to build a house in the suburbs of Syracuse, New York. And I told him how “Black Lives Matter” calls attention to the fact that Black people are considered less than white people ― and that needs to stop.

I also told him if people don’t understand that Black lives matter, Black people will continue to be murdered by the police and denied opportunities by the establishment. We will not be allowed to participate in the “American Dream,” and we will be made to feel that this is somehow our fault, when it is in fact the fault of a racist society with the full support of our government.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to have this conversation. Encounters like this have been going on for a very long time for me.

Both of my parents are Black but have white ancestors. Those recessive white genes were passed on to me, and I was born…