Dear Reader:
For some of you what you are about to read will come as no surprise.  Others may find it insightful, but it will not change your perception of me.  But for some, what I am about to say may surprise you and it may, indeed, change your perception and even your acceptance of me.
I choose to write this letter because I’ve decided I want to be a more authentic person.  I want to live more in character than out of character.  In order to live in character I need to become comfortable with me; all of me.  This is me coming out.
You see, for much of my life, like many people born to parents from different racial or ethnic backgrounds, and for some that just don’t look like they match one group or another, I have struggled to find and be at peace with my cultural identity.  I have been confused by, frustrated with, angry at, and even ashamed of my own racial and cultural self.  As a result, around middle school, or maybe even before, I began to encourage people’s confusion about what groups I may or may not represent.  Over time I remained oblivious to, or maybe just in denial of, how much of a lie the omission of truth had become.
In recent history I have come to feel that I have been hiding behind this cloak of ambiguity for so long that I’m not sure if I am comfortable without it.  I know need to shed that heavy cover, however, if I want to live in character, because who I am culturally is an important ingredient in the recipe of me. 
So here goes….
My biological father was the son of Irish immigrants.  He and his siblings were the first generation in their family born in the United States.  My biological mother is part black and about one-quarter Lakota Sioux Indian.   I was adopted from birth and raised by the people I refer to as my “real parents,” Marion and Ada Robinson.  They are amazing parents and I have led a truly blessed life.  And they just happen to be black like me (or at least a part of me).
It may not seem like those 86 words were worth angst, but speaking them and putting them in writing gives them power.  Power that has taken years for me to have the courage to assume.   For those of you who are struggling to grasp how I could be so challenged by something so benign, I’ll try to explain. 
 There are so many variables that contribute to the development of an individual’s cultural self-identity.   In the same way that we receive information about and assign value to others based upon their consistency or inconsistency with the “status quo,” each of us receives those same messages about and assigns similar valuations to ourselves. There are unspoken (and sometimes spoken) criteria that we compare ourselves against to determine how well we as individuals, and how well the groups we represent, measure up.  
The stories we hear from others, images we see in day-to-day life, media portrayals we are exposed to, and personal experiences we have all contribute to shaping our impressions of who we are and who we should be.  Cultural identity is an important component in developing that impression and can impact how we view and value ourselves. 
In my case, I grew up with limited and situational exposure to diversity.  In my neighborhood, at school, and later as a young adult, I frequently heard comments like, “you’re not really black,” or “but, you’re not like them.”  To complicate matters, I heard those comments from people who were white and black.   Believing it was like being offered a waiver from a lifetime of uncomfortable experiences.  You see, it wasn’t privilege I was seeking, it was sanctuary.
The discomfort I remember feeling on more than one occasion when I stood as a bystander and witnessed hatred and distain projected at black children and adults, not to mention the plethora of negative imagery about blacks that persists (even today) in mainstream media, influenced my voice and my spirit.  I gave in to the illusion of exception, but not without a price.
Today I’m reclaiming the pieces of me that were chipped away every time I stood silent.  Today I peel away the cowardly layers and allow myself and others to appreciate all of me.  I do so cautiously but deliberately, with the understanding that self-identity development, particularly as it relates to race, will continue to be a journey for me (as it is for most people).  Hopefully, from this point forward, it will be one I embrace. 
For now,
Tami C. Soper