Bearing the Standard of Biracial Relationships

As my flight began its descent into Denver yesterday, I braced myself for the homogeneity that I knew I would find on the ground below. The first, second, and even third time I came to Colorado, I was struck (in a slightly painful way) by the lack of racial diversity. Somehow, I had come to the silly conclusion that Colorado would be full of culturally sensitive, ethnically diverse people because recreational marijuana is legal here. I have since learned not to equate drug usage with liberalism, or liberalism with diversity.

I stepped from the plane onto the bridge, taking a deep breath before plunging into the cool, crackly air that whispered promises of snow, and then as I entered the terminal, I took another deep breath and squared my shoulders. I walked briskly through, trying not to notice the endless heads of blonde and light brown hair. I reminded myself that no one was looking at me, no one was wondering why I was there, and after a few minutes, I stopped needing to reassure myself.

Over the years of visiting my husband’s white American family in Colorado, I’ve slowly become accustomed to standing out as an Vietnamese American woman. What I haven’t quite gotten used to is us standing out as a biracial couple. We are the undeniable image of physical juxtaposition in height, weight, skin color, eye color, hair texture— this is the standard that we have to bear, whether we like it or not. It is the reason people look at us the way they do, and either respond with some air of disbelief or, at the very least, hesitation. Our biracial relationship is somewhere in between unusual, unlikely, and impossible.

Once when I stepped up to a counter to order after my husband, the waitress asked me sharply to wait until it was my turn, without pausing to ask if we were in the same party. I recently had breakfast alone with my father-in-law, and I wondered if others were speculating about why a 20-something, 5-ft Asian woman was with a 60-something, 6.5-ft white man. I’m now imagining the Christmas picture I know we’ll take on Christmas Day with my husband’s extended family, and I can already see myself being a sore thumb, somewhere off-center.

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