By Brooke Lea Foster
Nov. 26, 2016
Once I was a unique mom living in the Upper West Side of Manhattan this season, we usually forgot that my baby son, Harper, didn’t appear to be me personally. Around the neighborhood, I thought of him as the perfect brown baby, soft-skinned and tulip-lipped, with a full head of black hair, even if it was the opposite of my blond waves and fair skin as I pushed him.
“He’s adorable. Just exactly just What nationality is his mother? ” a middle-aged woman that is white me personally outside Barnes & Noble on Broadway 1 day, mistaking me personally for the nanny. Okumaya devam et “For Interracial Couples, Growing Acceptance, With Some Exceptions”