You both own your mistakes and apologise appropriately when necessary. You don’t hold grudges or storm out of the house

My grandparents’ formal education and the ability to effectively code-switch and assimilate into the dominant (White) culture made it possible for them to live a very comfortable life. Don’t get me wrong, my grandparents were Black as fuck. And proud of it. My family was more Huxtables than Evans. We were very Black and very proud.

You struggle to put it into words but it just feels good. As Helen Keller said: “the best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart.” It feels…right.

You don’t have to spend every waking minute together but, because you genuinely enjoy your partner’s company, you create time for it. You both initiate things for the two of you to do and, shock-horror, you have fun.

Both of my parents identify as Black. My siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles all identify as Black. At least, I’ve never heard anyone in my family refer to themselves as anything but Black.

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ly everything worked perfectly. No issues in Entity Framework, native JSON libraries, Startup.cs configurations. It was much easier than the migration from .NET 2.2 to .3.1, which difficulties you can see in the article below that I made using the same project:

I attended an affluent, majority-White elementary school. All my teachers were always White. The majority of my friends were White or Asian. Most of the few Black kids I went to school with were related to me. I learned to talk and in many ways act like an affluent White kid. It wasn’t until I got to middle school that the majority of students were people of color.

Pens with no ink and extra pencils: Why should you keep a pen that doesn’t work? Toss it! Excess pens and pencils also keep spaces on your desk. Take an old cup and fill it with the one you like and donate the others.

Growing up in my home, speaking anything other than conventional English was unaccepted. Dropping the “r” or “g” from the ends of the words and using too much slang was not either. My grandmother also taught me about good grammar (though you might not know it from some of my early drafts).

If I allowed the world to tell my kids they were mixed, they could begin to develop the idea that they don’t belong. I would be telling them, through inaction, that they didn’t have a right to either racial identity. They didn’t have a right to be like their dad or their mom. Placing them in a racial purgatory they could struggle with the rest of their life. I did.

These kids (not just the Black ones) fluently spoke a different dialect of English than I did. I could more or less code-switch (mostly less) but this is where my problem with my racial identity began. As far as a lot of these kids were concerned, I spoke White, acted White, and looked a little White. To them, I might as well be White or, maybe more accurately, I wasn’t Black like they were Black. They knew it, and I knew it, and we probably weren’t best friends because of it.

As the years go by, I make it a point to talk to my kids about race and racism in exactly the same way I talk to them about the latest Marvel Movie: matter-of-factly. I also make it a point to talk about sexism, gender identity, LGBTQ issues, poverty, drinking, sexting, and so on. Not talking to kids about sensitive issues leaves them vulnerable to those issues. At least, that’s my approach to parenting.

Many of my ancestors are of multiple ethnic and racial backgrounds. The so-called mixing happened so far back on my family tree none of my living relatives are anything but Black.

I explained to him that he would always be both Asian and Black. That he didn’t have to pick which he was. That all of him was Black. And all of him was Asian. No one could tell him he wasn’t Black enough or Asian enough unless he let them.

My grandfather was a chemist on a team that discovered two elements on the Periodic Table of Elements. Formal education had been my grandparents’ path to financial security and the way they created safety and opportunity for their children.

You struggle to put it into words but it just feels good. As Helen Keller said: “the best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart.” It feels…right.