Autobiography Anonymous

“Holy s**t – you’re dad’s white?!” I guess that was the first thing my friend could think of to say after I introduced him to my father. His bulging eyes of shock and goofy grin barely surprised me. It’s the same reaction everyone has. Yes, he is white; yes, he is my biological father. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told people that I’m biracial, or the fact that my last name isn’t Japanese. People are always incredulous when they see that my dad doesn’t have my brown eyes or my stick-straight, nearly-black hair. And no matter how many times it’s happened over the eighteen years of my life, I’m still always equally shocked at people’s ignorance.

It’s 2007. We have cars with built-in machines that talk and tell you exactly where you are and can navigate exactly where you need to go, down to every turn and dip in the road. We have instant communication with not only this country, but every country in the entire world. We have robots that move, talk, even think. We have the ability to clone all different kinds of animals and organisms, and we can store a ton of information in devices smaller than the palm of a child’s hand. The knowledge that all this exists doesn’t surprise people a bit – but the fact that my mom is Asian...