Since today is Juneteenth, I’ve spent a lot of the day thinking about heritage, identity, and the stories we pass down to the next generation.
And that has led me down a bit of a rabbit hole.
How exactly do you raise a mixed kid to appreciate all of their cultures without accidentally minimizing part of who they are?
For context, I’m Black and Hispanic, and Hector is Honduran. More specifically, his family is Garifuna. If you’re not familiar with Garifuna culture, they’re a vibrant Afro-Indigenous community found throughout Central America, especially Honduras.
Which means our daughter is going to grow up with a lot of cultural influences shaping who she is.
And lately I’ve been wondering what that looks like in practice.
I’ve written before about being Black and Hispanic. I’ve celebrated Black History Month, talked about Juneteenth, shared my experiences growing up mixed, and spent a lot of time reflecting on what my identity means to me. My Black heritage has always been important to me, even when my relationship with it hasn’t always felt straightforward.
Because being mixed can be complicated.
I grew up in a predominantly Black community, but there were still moments where I felt like I didn’t fully belong. There were times when I felt too Hispanic for some spaces and not Hispanic enough for others. Too Black for some people and not Black enough for others.
Even now, there are moments where I catch myself overthinking things. I’ll find myself wondering whether I’m “allowed” to do something that is part of my own heritage. Rationally, I know the answer, but identity isn’t always rational.
So now I’m thinking about my daughter.
I want her to know about Honduras.
I want her to know about Garifuna history and traditions.
I want her to know about the Black side of her family.
I want Juneteenth to matter.
I want Black History Month to matter.
I want Hispanic Heritage Month to matter too.
I want her to know where she comes from, not just on paper but in a way that feels real and lived.
The good news is that she’ll probably grow up in a different environment than I did.
We live in a pretty diverse community. There are mixed families everywhere. There are kids who identify with multiple cultures and multiple backgrounds. Being mixed won’t be some unusual thing she’ll have to explain every time she meets someone.
But I still find myself wondering how much of this is taught and how much of it is simply experienced.
Maybe the answer isn’t trying to divide her into percentages.
Maybe it isn’t worrying about whether she’s “more” one thing than another.
Maybe it’s making sure she grows up surrounded by all of it.
The food.
The stories.
The music.
The holidays.
The family traditions.
The history.
Maybe my job isn’t to tell her which identity should feel strongest.
Maybe my job is to give her access to all of it and let her build her own relationship with each part of herself.
Because if being mixed has taught me anything, it’s that identity isn’t a math equation.
And hopefully, by the time she’s old enough to ask these questions herself, she’ll feel less pressure to fit neatly into a box than previous generations did.
At the end of the day, she won’t just be Black. She won’t just be Hispanic. She won’t just be Garifuna.
She’ll be all of those things at once.
And that’s something worth celebrating.
Update: Pregnancy brain has struck again.
After publishing this post, Hector informed me that while he thinks his mom’s side of the family is Garifuna, he is not actually 100% sure. Apparently I may have taken something he said at some point and filed it away in my brain under “established fact.”
To be fair, I would have sworn this was a conversation we’d already had. But at this stage of pregnancy, my memory is operating on a “sounds familiar, must be true” system.
The good news is we’ll be seeing his mom tomorrow, so I plan to investigate this mystery and get an actual answer from the source.
Until then, please enjoy this reminder that pregnancy brain is real, fact-checking your husband is important, and family history is apparently more complicated than I thought.
