wait, what . . . a second time

For the past forever in the United States there have been whites and blacks. (I'm excluding native Americans here because they're always forgotten about in history, so really, why must they be included in my blog?) Almost as long as the past forever, there has been a mixing of the races in the country. Some relationships occurred on their own, because, well, a person is a person. Other relationships were the result of pressure and not because it was what both parties wanted. Anyways, my point with this little rant is that when people think of mixed race, it's black and white. They do this because our country has a history of doing so. (Back to those pesky Indians - nobody really cares that John Smith and Pocahontas got together.)

Fast forward to 2006. We've still got blacks and whites. We've also got some other races and ethnicities mixed in as well. Here's what I didn't know until recently: if you're Arab or of Arab descent, you're not white. Now this may come as a shock to some, so I'll pause for just a second to let people sit down . . . . . . ok, pause is done, Apparently I'm not white. Crazy, I know. Apparently, proximity to Caucasus (you know, where the word Caucasian comes from) does not matter. Even the people who live in the part of Iran that is included in the Caucasus and are therefore Caucasian are not white.

Now here's a little Sarah family history. My mom's family is about as WASPy as they come. I've got relatives who were here before the Revolutionary War. Anyways, this little white girl fell in love with my dad. My dad's side of the family is from Syria. Well, technically they immigrated to the US before Syria was even a country. (Syria was not a country until the British and French decided to divide some land in the Middle East after World War 1 making Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, and Palestine - learn your history people.) Anyways, my dad is 100% of Arab descent minus the Crusader blood that I'm sure got mixed in their at some point. So if you put my mom and dad together, you get me and my sister who would then be a mix of European mutt and Arab ethnicities. This is not news to me. I just never knew that if you're Arab, you're not white. We always joke that my mom is a white girl, but it was just a joke. Who knew it was true? Apparently, everyone except me. I feel like Dave Chappelle when he was a blind black KKK member. Anyways, for all of you white supremists out there who want to be my friend, beware. I'm a mixed race southerner and proud of it.

Peter and Isa - my heart

I interviewed a man today about the Katrina Relief Center that he ran in Oxford. He showed me some pictures of an old Walmart that was used as the base, and there were many pictures of kids. It reminded me of a story I'd forgotten of Peter and Isabella and made me cry. I hope the guy didn't notice. The story follows.

The Audubon Zoo was not open when I first returned to New Orleans. While not part of my daily life any more, there was a point when I worked at the zoo and then later when I took Peter and Isabella frequently. Now, because I couldn't, I wanted to take Peter and Isabella more than ever.

The zoo finally reopened around Thanksgiving, and I took Peter and Isa one Saturday at the beginning of December. Just past the ticket counter was a table with Americorps volunteers. On the tables were backpacks with toys, books, pens, etc. for all of the children at the zoo that day. School children from Wisconsin (or some state in that area) had collected things for the children of New Orleans. Peter and Isabella were each given a bag. When I handed Peter his bag, he said, "What's this for?"

"Some kids in Wisconsin collected toys for the children of New Orleans because of the hurricane," I replied.

"But I didn't get any damage. There were just some broken windows. Nothing happened to me," he said.

"Well, they wanted all the kids affected by Hurricane Katrina to have something," I tried to explain.

"We need to give this to the kids that lost their houses, the ones that got damage. I should give it to them."

It broke my heart to hear Peter, six years old at the time, tell me this. I finally told him that I would hold onto the bag, so he could have it later if he wanted.

In November 2005, Isabella and I were on the swings at the park. On the side of the street there were some tree limbs and other debris that had been cleared from someone's yard. "That's damage," she told me. Isabella had turned four the week before.
Isabella and Peter - my heart.