“Where are you from? No, where are you from from?”

I love this question. Normally when I’m asked about my race I turn the question around – “where do you think I’m from?” I like to see what people say, because I’m not entirely sure. My last name is O’Donnell, but people think I’m too dark to be Irish. I know my mom is mostly Hungarian and English, but this isn’t what people want to hear about. They want to know why I’m so tan, and I really can’t answer that.

The first memory I have of this question coming up must be from around 6^th grade. I was at summer camp and a boy asked me if I was offended by a certain situation – “you know, because you’re half black.” I was shocked. Me? Half black? Interesting idea. When I started tutoring elementary school kids they all tried to speak to me in Spanish. When I told them I didn’t know Spanish, they didn’t believe me -- “No way you’re not Costa Rican.” A part of me was tempted to believe them because they identified my friend Kelly (who is half Vietnamese) as Canadian. These kids were kind of good. At my high school graduation I was standing in line next to the guy whose picture had been next to mine in the yearbook for four years. He turned and asked me why I didn’t have a rope to signify being in the National Honor Society around my robes. I said I wasn’t a member, and he was confused. “I thought all of you people were members of that.” You people? “Yeah, you Asians.” Okay.

I like the idea that I could be from from anywhere. It’s a little exciting, and it connects me to everyone. Of course, that’s just on a physical level. Maybe I could “pass,” as Anna Deavere Smith would say, but that’s not who I am. My best friend was adopted from Korea but identifies as Italian, and I think of myself similarly. I am Grace O’Donnell, and I am Irish.