A real life Oreo: my experience as a transracial adoptee
Trigger Warning: Racial trauma
What is an Oreo? To most it’s known as a cookie, black crust on the outside and a white filling in the middle.
Oreos taste pretty good too. I’ve rarely found someone who doesn’t enjoy one. They are a must have for any party, it’s the life of the party. Mix them with peanut butter for an extra twist and find out that they do get better. As a transracial adoptee when I think of an Oreo, it reminds me of how I used to think of myself — a Black man that had internalized white culture, and for the record not by choice.
I first heard the term “oreo” being used to describe a person in high school. That was when my peers started waking up to the fact that I wasn’t like any of the other ten Black kids at my school. I didn’t sound the same, dress the same, respond to authority the same, or even approach a classroom the same. I was different, and I had no idea how confusing my near future would be as the term became a false identity. I could hide behind it in white spaces and use it as a crutch to build a gap between what people didn’t understand and what they felt comfortable with. However, when I was in the Black community when I was younger I felt lost, afraid, out of touch, and sunken. Back then, when I was hiding, I could get almost any white person to like me. I was digestible and tolerable. I have always been smart and white people liked that. They high fived my white parents for doing a “good job, with this one.” It was something like a “just smile and wave…” I played my part and in turn I was in demand.
“I didn’t sound the same, dress the same, respond to authority the same, or even approach a classroom the same. I was different, and I had no idea how confusing my near future would be as the term became a false identity.”
I was so oblivious to what had happened throughout Black history, and knew very little about the violence against the Black community that continued in present day. It's true, Black children in the past and present who live in close proximity to white culture have a wide variety of experiences. I am lucky I never experienced any physical violence, but unfortunately it was violence through words I came to know. “You’re not even Black”, “I am Blacker than you,” says a white kid who knew of Meek Mill two weeks before I did. It was the microaggressions that began to creep in through the use of the term “oreo.” School friends and peers would degrade my blackness and I sat by and let it happen. I was so naive, and yearned for the acceptance I wasn’t receiving at home.
I usually just laughed at blanket racist statements being said to me as I didn’t want to be further ostracized. Worse, I could hardly tell something bad was being said to me. I was just so used to it. Black culture, pride, and self-respect were not taught in my home. Racism didn’t exist because we never spoke of it. So I was the Black kid who “sounded white.” I was smart in school but dumb in the streets — a perfect clown to parade around. I can only imagine what other Black kids and parents thought of me when interacting with me back then. Hopefully a few said a prayer that my spirit would awaken to reality, which it has, and I say thank you to anyone who did say a prayer. I was truly lost.
“I usually just laughed at blanket racist statements being said to me as I didn’t want to be further ostracized. Worse, I could hardly tell something bad was being said to me. I was just so used to it.”
Peanut butter is good and I am learning so is my Blackness. It’s beautiful, resistant to racism and colorism. I am smart and not because I grew up around white people but because my two beautiful Black biological parents are smart and Black people are smart in general. I’ve had to dig deep, look within, and realize how messed up my self-perception was and is when it comes to Black people, culture, food, music, personal style and so much more. Every interaction I have with Black communities is a true learning experience for me right now. It’s absurd, I am 25 and this last thanksgiving I finally had a thanksgiving meal made by Black people. It had flavor and I actually wanted more.
There’s almost always a pause though at some point when Black people are getting to know me. They understand that something is different within me. Now instead of playing the silent role and letting perceptions be built off of what I am not saying, I say the truth. “White people got me, I was adopted.” There’s usually a sigh of relief that I don’t hate myself or them. We proceed and they help fill in the gaps by accepting me and treating me well. I am very grateful to all the Black people who have accepted me as I’ve come —many have helped without even knowing. Seeing others embrace themselves in a way I never have has encouraged me to step further into who I am, to be courageous, and let go of a false identity. I can love who I am and who I always was.
“Seeing others embrace themselves in a way I never have has encouraged me to step further into who I am, to be courageous, and let go of a false identity. I can love who I am and who I always was.”
Black culture was wildly demonized throughout my upbringing, through silence, silencing, or straight up ignoring. It’s a sham for white people to adopt Black kids and then proceed to raise said kids completely outside of Black culture — never interacting, never discovering, never making new friends, never learning accurate history. It’s wrong to say you love your Black kids and turn them away from who they are. In all reality they are being set up for failure, as being Black in America, in this world, means our experiences throughout life will be different from white people everyday after we are considered grown and sometimes even before that.
“It’s a sham for white people to adopt Black kids and then proceed to raise said kids completely outside of Black culture — never interacting, never discovering, never making new friends, never learning accurate history.”
I am calling out and encouraging any transracial families who struggle with bringing in Black culture to figure it out. Get messy (respectfully), get in the streets, figure out how to bring a Black experience into your family that isn’t full of negativity and is not out of touch. It’s not easy. It hasn’t been for me but it’s worth figuring out and your adopted kids will be better off for it. It’s the right thing to do, so do it starting today.
PLEASE NOTE: The term “oreo” is a harmful, derogatory, and offensive slang word used to describe a Black person who is regarded as having the attitudes, values, and behavior thought to be characteristic of middle-class white society.
