Now, with what is called our mixed, interracial, or international, marriage, our childrenare fusions even more.In America it is as a white person I go through life. My skin has an earthen tone that isnothing like white, but "white," in American society, doesn't mean an actual color on aspectrum. One thing that growing up in America teaches me, even if it is not a formallesson like ones at school, is that white people are privileged in ways that many codedwith colors other than white are not. Another thing that growing up there means is thatforces behind the scenes keep me in the dark about the color business, or in the white.Labeled by my society's color coding as white, coerced to live within that color's socialand psychological range, I innocently absorb attitudes that are racist. With no choice butto be the color my world puts on me, I--along with every person who has ever thought ofhimself or herself as "white"--directly or indirectly, knowingly or unknowingly, get along inlife by burdening those who had neither asked for nor agreed to a subservient role. Weeach are an accomplice to an injustice, and, for those who believe in it, it means badkarma. Though unable to articulate it at that young age, there is a wilting, unwholesomefeeling to that process of becoming white, there is a sense of complicity in an immoralact. This comes with the beneﬁts being light skinned offers.*****My father's mother is Jewish. She immigrates to America with her family from Russia.They sail to America from Liverpool, England, and it is said by my cousin Marilyn thatmy grandmother might have been born while crossing the Atlantic. She grows up as aHebrew, but when she marries my grandfather she converts to his religion. He isChristian, a Methodist. Through the two of them, different religions, different ethnic andcultural backgrounds, come together. Often--as is told me later in life as a middle agedadult--theirs is not often a peaceful joining, but they manage to stay together until deathdoes them part.My paternal grandfather dies when I am three or four. My grandmother lives with usthroughout much of my childhood and, in all those years of her bickering with mymother, with my father, or, later, with me, throughout those years with her perpetualharping on sundry points, I can't remember her ever once mentioning anti-Semitism orany kind of discrimination. She doesn't talk of the Holocaust or the ovens. Her familyhas not experienced that. Though there are pogrom in the Russia her family ﬂees, sheis not yet born.But, with her conversion to Christianity, marrying outside her religion, does she ever feelrejected by her Jewish relatives? My father tells me that her parents initially are againsther plans to marry my grandfather but that after they meet him and see what kind offellow he is they consent.