Living my truth

When I was a little girl, I cried all the time. I was even mute at times. It wasn’t until I sobered up that I began to understand why. I was adopted out of foster care into a white family, and I’m multi-racial, so nothing made sense to me about where I fit in. I checked the “other” box on forms because the only choices were black or white, with nothing in between. And my light-brown skin only got darker in the sun when I ran around on the beach, my favorite place in the Seattle area where I grew up.